


Winter's Child

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, House Blackfyre, House Stark, House Targaryen, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:05:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 246,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Willam Stark, heir to Winterfell is sent to King's Landing to foster, he becomes friends with Daeron Targaryen the young dragon and falls in love with Daena Targaryen. This will changes events in Westeros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Willam Stark, firstborn son of Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North was heading south to King’s Landing to foster. His presence along with those of several other highborn children had been requested by King Aegon the third of his name, to serve as companions for his children Daeron, Baelor, Daena, Elena and Rhaena. It is the 150th year since Aegon the Conqueror’s landing nineteen years after the Dance of Dragons tore the realm in half, though King Aegon along with his brother Prince Viserys has done much to restore peace to the realm, there are still divisions between the lords and their bannermen. Aegon means to end the distance put between the royal family and their wardens and so has asked all four of his wardens to send their first born children to foster in King’s Landing.

Willam, when he was told that he would be going south to the capital had been very excited. It would be a way for him to explore more of Westeros outside of the North and plus he would be away from the stern eye of his father and mother. Not that he didn’t love his parents and his siblings, it was just that he really wanted to meet more people, not just northerners, he wanted to meet the people from the south to see if the stories that Old Nan talked about really were true, whether the southerners really were just a bunch of statue worshipping ninnies or if they were something more. Plus he might also get to see dragons, those creatures that the Targaryens were so famous for.

His initial excitement had now turned to nervousness. The day had finally come for his departure, he would be heading south with ten men, all of them men he had grown up with in Winterfell. His father had spoken to him that morning, reminding him about what an honour it was that he was going down to King’s Landing, and that he should remember that whilst he was there he was representing Winterfell and the North and their family, and that he should strive to make a good impression on the Royal Family. Willam had of course promised to do just that, and though he felt confident that he could make friends down south – he was not too shy after all- there was still a little bit of nerves floating around his stomach, he was from the north after all and he had heard rumours about what the southerners thought and said about the north.

His mother had spoken to him as well, before he had mounted his horse. His mother, whom he loved above all else, she had come to see him off with tears in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She had told him she loved him and that she knew he would make them all proud, Willam nodded and then as he hugged his mother tightly he prayed to the Old Gods that when he returned she would still be alive and well.  Next he had said goodbye to his siblings. Artos, his oldest brother big even now at seven, Jeyne, his sweet sister with her dreams of songs and knights and then there was Beron, his baby brother the youngest of their pack at the age of three. He said goodbye to them all a lump in his throat throughout.

He turned round rather briefly, before he rode through the gates of Winterfell with his escort. He looked back at the castle that had been his home for all of his life till now, trying to memorise each and every detail of it, and all those who lived in it. Then he raised his hand in farewell and spurred Duty- his horse- onward and did not look back.

It took them a month to get to the capital. When they reached the Red Keep they were met by one of the members of the fabled Kingsguard, Ser Odrick Arryn, and brought to the throne room, where upon entering Willam found that there were five other children present and with them Willam guessed by the number of white cloaks present were the King’s children. Ser Odrick announced his arrival to the room at large and soon all the hustle and bustle stopped as all eyes were turned to him. Swallowing nervously Willam stepped forward trying to stop him from shaking, and walked toward where the King sat on the Iron Throne. He stopped just in front of the steps leading to the Iron Throne and bowed, saying as he did so “Your Grace. I am Willam Stark, son of Cregan Stark Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

He kept his head bowed as he waited for the king to speak, and when the King did so his voice sounded oddly soft. “Rise Lord Willam. And come and meet your fellow children.” Willam raised his head up and saw that a whole line of boys and girls were coming to greet him. A boy with the golden silver hair of the Targaryens and with their violet eyes stepped forward and shook Willam’s hand, as Willam heard the King say. “My son Daeron,” Daeron nodded at Willam and smiled slightly. Then he moved off and another boy who looked startlingly similar to Prince Daeron stepped forward and shook Willam’s hand and he heard the King say.”My youngest son Prince Baelor.” Then Prince Baelor moved away and two more boys who looked similar to Prince Daeron and Prince Baelor, albeit slightly older looking stepped forward. And the King said. “My nephews Aegon and Aemon.” They moved away and then four girls stepped forward and curtsied before Willam, and the king said. “My daughters Daena, Elena and Rhaena and my niece Naerys.” Then they moved away and a big young lad with golden curls and green eyes and a cheeky smile stepped forward and shook Willam’s hand. The king introduced him as “Damon Lannister.” Another boy stepped forward with raven black hair and summer blue eyes and King Aegon introduced him as “Robar Baratheon.” Then another boy stepped forward with fiery auburn hair – kissed by fire Willam thought briefly- the king introduced him as “Gregor Tully.” Then a boy with brown hair and big brown eyes stepped forward and the king introduced him as “Steffon Arryn.” Finally a boy with big broad shoulders and hair so pale it was almost white stepped forward and the king introduced him as “Quellon Greyjoy.” Once the introductions were done the King left them all to get to know each other, and Willam felt the butterflies return.

As the days turned into weeks and then turned into years Willam Stark grew more comfortable in King’s Landing. No longer did their strange accents and customs puzzle him. He learnt his lessons with the Grand Maester alongside his fellow wards and the princes and princesses, and when the Grand Maester was busy they were taught by Maester Marwyn. They learnt about the histories of the Seven Kingdoms and how to be good lords and kings and queens. And when they were not in lessons Willam spent time down in the practice yard along with the other boys practicing his sword fighting and his archery, though he quite liked fighting with a sword than with a bow, bows were for cowards he thought, though he didn’t say that to Quellon, as the Ironborn was twice as big as Willam was even at their young age.

Willam developed friendships in King’s Landing he became especially close with Prince Daeron, Prince Aemon and Steffon Arryn. The four of them would cause all kinds of havoc in the courtyard with their pranks and their japes, and they were a tightly knit group. Daeron and Willam especially grew close out of the four of them, and they exchanged jokes and told each other their deepest desires and told no one else only the two of them knew. So when King Aegon decreed that Prince Baelor should marry his sister Daena, following the Targaryen tradition, Daeron understood why Willam looked like he wanted to murder Baelor, even though he knew it was not the prince’s fault. For you see over the years that Willam had come to spend in King’s Landing, and when Baelor and Daena married he had been there for six years, he had come to truly have feelings for her. Not the sort of feelings that one had for a sister, but the sort of feelings Willam thought his father and mother had for one another. He wanted to marry Daena and start a family with her, he wanted to wake up beside her each every day, he wanted to kiss her all the time without worrying about being caught. He wanted her, and he wanted her badly, but he said nothing and remained quiet as he stood and watched Prince Baelor marry her.

It was after Prince Baelor and Daena’s wedding that the raven came from Winterfell. Dark Wings Dark words were a common saying and this time the saying proved true. Willam’s mother who had been unwell when he had left for King’s Landing six years ago had passed away of a fever in the night some weeks past. He had prayed and prayed to the Old Gods that she would still be there when he came back home in three years time, but like so many things the gods did not listen and his mother was dead. It was Daena who found him, alone in the Red Keep a sword in his hand and tears in his eyes, and it was Daena who held him as he cried even more, for his mother, for his mother who was not like other mothers, for his mother who was gone and had left him behind when she had promised she would never leave him. And it was Daena who promised him that she would never leave him, that when Daeron became King she would beg him to dissolve her and Baelor’s marriage so that the two of them could be together.

* * *

Willam keeps Daena to her word then, and when his father writes to him about accepting a marriage proposal for his hand, he writes back saying that he wishes to wait, he wants to write that he will only marry a dragon princess, but he knows his father would dismiss his word, and would arrange a match for him before Daeron ascends the throne, and so he merely writes that he would wait till he comes back to Winterfell.  His father writes back that that is acceptable, and tells him of how Artos has married one of Lord Karstark’s daughters and how an offer has come from Lord Bolton to wed his heir to Jeyne, Willam shivers when he reads that. The Boltons may not have rebelled against Winterfell since before Aegon the Dragon came to Westeros, but there is still something about the family that gives him the creeps, he knows his father would never seriously consider marrying Jeyne off to Lord Bolton’s heir, Willam remembers the boy from when they were little and even then there was something wrong with him, from the letters he gets from Artos and Jeyne, the boy has only grown worse as the years have gone on. Though he does not tell his father this.

Then comes the day that Willam had both prayed for and felt guilty over thinking about. King Aegon III is found in his bed, having died in his sleep. A fortnight later Daeron is crowned and becomes, Daeron the Young Dragon. He names his uncle Viserys as Hand of the King and names Willam to the small council, as Master of Laws. Willam is surprised by this considering that he is no older than Daeron, and has little actually experience of court politics. But Daeron is insistent saying that he needs someone on the small council who will not just nod their head and go along with whatever he says, and he says that Willam and his uncle Viserys are the only people who will do that. Willam goes and speaks with Daeron then, and asks for him to set aside Baelor and Daena’s marriage, and he can see from the look of sympathy in Daeron’s eyes that his request is about to be rejected. Still it does sting when his friend, his best friend tells him that he cannot do that, that his uncle would simply have him marry Daena instead. Willam walks back to his rooms dejected and angry with his friend and with the Targaryens.

He is still angry when Prince Aegon marries Princess Naerys, and he sees the sorrow in Prince Aemon’s eyes. He wonders what Aemon has to feel sorry about, he swore himself to celibacy earlier that year when he joined the Kingsguard. Willam looks across the Sept and catches Daena’s eye, she still makes his heart beat quicken, and she flashes him a cheeky smile that makes him blush, Daeron nudges him in the ribs to stop him from smiling like a fool.  Then Daeron marries Steffon Arryn’s sister and the Arryns come to court. For a family renowned for their honour Willam notes that the Arryns – or atleast Steffon’s father- seem content to sucking up to the king, and Willam spends half the feast exasperated with the Arryns and their blatant ass kissing, the other half he spends pushing Daena up against a wall in the dark shadows of the Red Keep kissing her until they are both breathless with pleasure. He has gone so long without kissing her that he does not even feel guilty for kissing another man’s wife, for when that man is Prince Baelor, and when the Prince refuses to bed and even kiss his own wife, why should he feel guilty?

She smiles at him and then walks away straightening her dress as she re-enters the feast. The next day Daeron announces before the small council that he means to march on Dorne. His friend as often seen it as an insult that Dorne remains independent, and that so long as it did, the work of Aegon the Conqueror was unfinished. The ravens go out that same day calling the banners of the Kingdoms for war. Willam feels his heart beat heavy in his chest, as Daeron’s best friend he will be riding with the King, but it still does not feel real, not even when the armies of Westeros have assembled 120,000 troops assembled in King’s Landing, over the past three moons. The only time it feels like he is truly marching for war is the night before they are due to leave when he goes to say farewell to Daena and finds her not in her room, but in his bed, wearing nothing but a shift and no smallclothes. He tries to resist, but he is not as strong as he should be, and he beds her and kisses her as if doing so could keep him in King’s Landing with her and not away to Dorne. She leaves in the dead of the night sneaking back to her own rooms, and he feels hollow inside.

* * *

The royal army of King’s Landing marches three moons to the day that the ravens went out. 120,000 men march for Dorne to bring it into Westeros and make true of Daeron’s title as King of all Seven Kingdoms. The Dornish put up a stiff resistance. The first battle of the campaign is in the Dornish Marches, where the royal army go up against the armies of House Manwoody, Dayne and Yronwood plus three companies of sellswords. The fighting is bloody. Willam leads the left for the battle, Daeron leading the main host and Prince Aemon leading the Vanguard. Willam leads the charge that breaks the Yronwood’s flank. Willam wielding a longsword from the armoury in King’s Landing swings, hacks and slashes his way through the Dornishmen in his path. He keeps hacking and slashing, cutting off an arm here, a head there, he cuts a man in half and then cuts a man from shoulder to leg and watches stuck to the spot as the man bleeds to the death.

Daeron slays Lord Manwoody, opening him from shoulder to foot. Aemon kills Lord Dayne piercing his throat with Dark Sister. Willam fights Lord Yronwood and wins though only after a bloody confrontation. Swinging their swords at each other like mad men, the sound of steel on steel, the screeching of it, the sparks flying it sounds like music to Willam. If music could be dark and perverted. Lord Yronwood swings his sword and Willam ducks. Willam swings his sword and Lord Yronwood moves to the left. They both swing their swords and the clanging of steel as it meets in the air resounds around the battlefield.

Lord Yronwood swings again, and this time Willam is not quick enough to block the swing and gasps as the sword cuts into his skin through his armour, opening up a fresh wound to go with his already sizeable amount. Willam manages to retaliate though. He manages through pure brute force to shove Yronwood’s sword out of the way and gives himself enough time to thrust his longsword into the man’s chest before pulling out again, blood following his sword on its way out.

Yronwood’s answering blow nearly knocks Willam to his knees. The man maybe old but he is still strong, he slams his sword into Willam’s sword with such force that Willam’s grip falters and in that moment, Yronwood knocks Willam on his helm, denting it and impairing Willam’s vision. Yronwood’s next blow is a sword thrust through Willam’s left rib, that pierces through his armour and punctures his ski, causing blood to flow out at an alarming rate. Willam falls to his knees then, seeing the end in sight. Yronwood lifts his sword up readying it to bring it down into a big arc to lop Willam in half, but he is slow to do the deed.

This gives Willam enough time even with blood pouring out of him like the water flows through the Blackwater, he struggles to lift his sword up, Yronwood’s age really shows in this moment, for Willam knows that a younger, quicker foe would have realised what he was about to do and would have brought their sword down already to prevent him from doing anything of the sort, but Yronwood is not young and Willam thanks the gods that he is not. He lifts his sword up and then tries to lunge but ends up falling forwards, piercing through Yronwood’s armour and piercing his skin inside, Willam leans so heavily on the sword that he thinks it may have pierced several valuable organs, and judging by the way the blood begins to pour out of Yronwood’s mouth and stain Willam’s sword all the way up to the hilt, he guesses he is right. Lord Yronwood dies with Willam’s blade buried deep within him, Willam himself struggles to wrench himself and his sword free from the old man, and when he does he realises that the battle around them must have stopped for he can no longer hear the sounds of men fighting, dying or screaming. But he lifts the visor from his helm and sees that no he was wrong the battle still rages on.

He staggers up shouting for a maester, and when does eventually come he thinks he might faint from the amount of blood he has lost. As it turns out he does feint, but when he comes to it is to the sight of his friends gathered around him, talking quietly about the battle and what their next point of action should be. He remains quiet during the discussion but from what he hears, he gauges that they won though they sustained heavy losses. Robar’s father died as did Steffon’s. Both are now the Lord’s Paramount and are both still boys, hells they’re all green boys in this tent. He, Daeron, Robar, Steffon, Damon, Aemon, Aegon all green boys who’ve just had their first taste of war, and they’re about to get some more.

A week later their march through the Prince’s Pass goes largely unhindered, though there are a few bandits who try and raid their supply trains, they are easily dealt with by the soldiers, therefore allowing the commanders sometime to rest. Their next battle comes at the edge of the Prince’s Pass when their army is nearing the end of the treacherous terrain and are between High Hermitage and Skyreach, more Dornish men and women come out and attack, except this time they attack at night and slip away once they are done. After the second night when they wake up to find sentries and other soldiers dead, killed at their post or in their beds, Daeron decides that the whole army shall be on alert and shall not rest till the Dornish force responsible are dead or captured.

The third night is when the real fighting starts. They come with low burning torches; Willam and the men have no fires burning, are only listening for the sound of heavy footfalls and at the first sign of them draw their weapons. It is tricky business this fighting in the dark, hacking and slashing at an enemy that you cannot see, often means that Willam gets more injuries than he deals. He keeps hacking and slashing though, and eventually figures out a pattern. The Dornish will follow the sand paths to attack and then take the sand trails back to their hide outs, in the morning after the third night Willam leads a small party and finds the Dornish base of power, he goes back and tells Daeron without being seen, and then that evening just before the sun sets, the armies of Westeros converge on the Dornish guerrillas. It is a massacre plain and simple. Willam swing his sword till it is covered in blood, the ground is covered with blood and is littered with bodies, Dornish bodies. He cuts off arms, legs, heads; he pierces throats, chests, ribs and shoulders. All done so that Daeron can conquer Dorne.

After resting for a few days the army marches further east, all the while patrols are kept at night and guards are kept on the supply train at all time, Daeron is not going to be taking any chances. The raids continue though, men are killed both Westerosi and Dornish, and the nightly guerrilla attacks continue as well, draining their man power severly, so that by the time they come to Hellholt, the army is close to starving and the morale is beginning to drain, and still Daeron insists on marching and fighting. At Hellholt they find 2000 Dornishmen armed and ready to fight, they also find the desert ready to drain their resources away, as it turns out they smash the forces gathered at Hellholt, but suffer severe losses as well taking the castle and winning the battle, they lose roughly half their men either to death in the battle or starvation as they march further on through the desert.

A rider finds them as they march close to the Vaith river,  he comes bearing news from King’s Landing, Daeron’s wife died during labour, their daughter stillborn. Daeron buries his sorrow and his grief by fighting yet another battle, this time against 1000 Dornishmen and their guerrilla tactics. Tactics which cost them 20,000 men though they still win the battle. Eventually House Martell sends a rider to bring them to treat at Godsgrace, Daeron accepts and so the king, Willam, Steffon, Aemon, Aegon and Lord Tyrell ride with thirty men for Godsgrace, Robar having died during one of the battles, whether at Hellholt or at the Vaith Willam cannot remember.

The terms discussed are ones of peace, Willam is in such a daze shocked from the battles he has fought and plagued by nightmares that he does not remember much of what is said. All he knows is that when they ride back from Godsgrace to their army camped by the Vaith, Lord Tyrell does not ride with them as he has been left by Daeron to be the steward of Dorne and to rule for Daeron. They begin their journey back north two years to the day that they began preparing for the conquest. Daeron seems smug and cocky as they ride back, all Willam can do is hope and pray that this conquest lasts, and that there will be no more need for bloodshed, for a long time. 

* * *

It is clear that as they march back for King’s Landing that the Dornish people do not like them, they do not see Daeron as their king, they only see him as their conqueror, their slaver, Willam tries to point this out to Daeron, but his friend only laughs and tells him to lighten up. They are at Grassy Vale when Daeron begins writing his book on the Conquest. In typical Daeron style the book is written with extravagant flourish and the prose paints Daeron as a hero, he is in truth, especially if he can hold Dorne. The book is published and becomes an instant hit for the nobility to read, three years after they set out for Dorne. To Willam though life in the south does not seem as glamorous as it once did, before when he thought war was just a game. He has seen different now, he has seen men die, has killed men, he has watched his friends and his enemies bleed to death screaming for their mothers. No he no longer thinks of the south with as much fondness as he used, and that is something not even Daena can change, and he begins looking forward to the time he can return home, with his father beginning to go into ill health he will be needed in the north soon.

His departure is delayed infinitely when news comes to King’s Landing of Lord Tyrell’s death by scorpions. News of the Dornish revolts taking place across the whole of Dorne anger Daeron and the rest of his cousins, he calls the banners once more, though this time 40,000 men come instead of 120,000 and they ride south once more Willam a reluctant participant this time around.

The second time around, the Dornish do not fight them in open battle, they are not waiting for them in the Dornish Marches like they were three years ago. No they wait in the mountains covered by desert and sand, they wait and when the army crosses into the Prince’s Pass they strike. Flinging boulders and rocks at the army, Willam manages to avoid the rocks that are thrown, but from the screams and shouts of the men behind him he knows there are hundreds- perhaps thousands- who are not so lucky. The barrage stops that night and they set up camp, Daeron weary due to attack in the morning has sentries and guards and patrols set up. They do no good. They wake up the next morning to find men dead, killed at their post beside the fire, in their beds, their heads mounted on spikes on the rocks and mountain side. The body of Ser Odrick Arryn of the Kingsguard is found two days later, his head smashed in with rocks, his armour taken, his body covered with scars and dried wounds, dead killed by poison Daeron says.

The destruction does not end there. Steffon dies next, an arrow to the chest in the night, the Dornish guerrilla’s getting bolder and bolder. A massacre, men are found with swords thrust through their bellies and heads, arrows through their chests and arms and legs. Blood covers the camp; bodies litter the earth, and are burnt. Unmarked graves are made in the Prince’s Pass, and Daeron rages.

Daeron’s own death comes four days after that. They had stumbled upon a group of Dornishmen, the leaders of the resistance no doubt, planning their next move. Daeron had drawn Blackfyre and challenged them to a duel. There seven of them and five of us, Willam will remember later. Daeron, Aemon, Aegon, Gregor and Willam himself. Aemon killed two of them, Aegon one, Gregor one, Willam himself killed two, Daeron killed the leader but died later from his wounds. And as they were retreating back to camp they were set upon by a giant Dornish host, commanded by Prince Mors Martell.

They are taken to Skyreach and kept in cells there, for what seems like months until Prince Baelor, now King Baelor Willam supposes comes and treats with the Dornish Prince, he negotiates their release and they come back to King’s Landing with Daeron’s bones, his crown and the sword his wielded. Dorne remains independent and Willam seethes. They won their freedom through treachery and dishonest means, not through open battle like good honest men would.

* * *

Willam is there in the Sept when Baelor is formally named king and Daena Queen, though a few days later Baelor against the advise of his uncle and hand sets aside his marriage to Daena. That same night Daena comes to his room, and Willam still wallowing in grief and anger beds her, and he beds her again the next night and the night after that. It becomes a running joke that Aegon often throws at him when he sees him in passing. Willam lets it pass though, for five months after Baelor’s coronation and Daeron’s death and with Daena’s urging he goes to Baelor and asks him for permission to marry Daena, Baelor refuses.

Not only does he refuse he calls Willam, “A Heathen, a savage, and not a man fit for a Princess of the Iron Throne or any Targaryen.”

Willam seethes at the insult done to him and his family in front of the court and spits back. “Is this how it will be then? We grew up together Your Grace, we learnt how to be men, I served your brother loyally and I never once asked for a thing. And this one thing I ask for you would deny it to me?”

Baelor says nothing but remains still on the Iron Throne. “Very well then, I resign from the Small Council. I am done with this city and its politics. Good day and gods bless.” Willam snarls and then stalks from the hall. He packs his things in a hurry, anger making him decided instantly what he needs and what he doesn’t.

He almost doesn’t see Daena standing in his room until she is pressing herself against him her mouth hot and insistent against his. “I know you are hurt and upset my love,” she says between kisses and moans. “I will find  a way to be with you I promise. You must take this with you.” She presses a crown into his hands.

He looks at it stunned. “This is the crown Torrhen Stark wore when he was King in the North. Where did you get it from?”

Daena smiles a sly smile. “There are rooms here which no one has been in for years. Let us say I got the crown from there. Take it with you, and when we marry you shall wear it become a king my love.” She kisses him once more and then walks out of the room.

The next day Willam rides with ten men back to Winterfell, the crown kept along with his most precious belongings. When he tells his father of King Baelor’s humiliation of him and their family, Lord Cregan promises that the insult will not go forgotten and instructs Maester Osgrey to begin work on Moat Cailin, to have it rebuilt to its former glory. For the Starks are of the north, and the North Remembers.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Dragons And Wolves

**The Hand of the King**

He still heard the dragons screeching sometimes at night. He still saw the fires, and the burnt bodies of the fallen, of his brothers and his father, lying unseeingly on the pyre as they were given to the flames. He still remembers seeing his mother being fed to his uncle’s dragon. He was not sorry when the last dragon died, even if it symbolises something, an end to all out Targaryen dominance in the Seven Kingdoms. Dragons are not needed, political ties are. It was why he suggested to Aegon that they foster the little lordlings from the Wardens so that should war come again, there would be no threat, no uncertainty. Viserys still remembers how his mother had fumed and fumed, when her brother had crowned himself, how she had wept bitter tears when they learnt of Baelon, Gaemon and Aemon’s deaths. 

They never sing about the death and destruction that comes with war in the songs. No they only sing about the great deeds and how the knights always win and the bad men lose, and how the maiden in the tower always, always is saved by the charming prince. Lies all of them. There are no true knights, there are no maidens in the tower, Viserys and his brother had learnt that hard lesson during the Dance, and their children were learning it now. He had counselled strongly against invading Dorne, had told Daeron that there was no purpose to conquering it that had it needed to have been conquered; Aegon the Dragon would have done so. Daeron always a hot headed boy and urged on by the Baratheon and the Lannister boys, ignored his advice and called the banners and marched.

That he had managed to win Dorne in the first place was a miracle unto itself, though from the way the singers sang it, it was all to do with Daeron, the Young Dragon they were calling him, and Viserys suspected that his nephew had let the praise go to his head. Though not before he had told him how it had been because of Willam Stark that Dorne had finally surrendered, how Willam had fought and fought like the warrior himself. Viserys knew that his nephew and Willam Stark were close, closer than Daeron and Baelor, like true brothers. He also knew that Daeron’s death had hit Stark hard, he knew that there was only one thing Stark treasured more than his friendship with Daeron and that was Daeron’s sister Princess Daena.

Viserys had seen the two of them grow up together, had seen how Willam thought Daena hung the moon, he had suggested to Aegon that perhaps it would be good if Daena and Willam were to marry, it would strengthen ties with the north. His brother had refused, had stated that Daeron would marry the Arryn girl and Baelor and Daena would marry. That had not been one of his brother’s better suggestions, Viserys had to admit, as far as he was aware Baelor and Daena’s marriage had gone unconsummated, and when Baelor had set the marriage aside, Viserys urged him to allow Willam and Daena to marry. Baelor refused.

His nephew was a fool, a pious man, but a fool none the less. Baelor said outright in front of the whole court when Willam Stark had come to ask for Daena’s hand in marriage that no northern savage was worthy of a Princess of the blood, that the Faith would not stand for some blasphemous wedding. Stark had stormed out fuming and had also resigned as Master of Laws, and Viserys had been living in panic since that day trying desperately to mend the broken relationship with Winterfell. His sources had told him the day that Cregan Stark had begun rebuilding Moat Cailin, and he had felt his gut begin to sink. Torrhen Stark had knelt to Aegon the Dragon, because he wished to spare his people the fate suffered on the Field of Fire, Moat Cailin had been a ruin even then. But now the Targaryens had no dragons and Baelor’s piety was casting dispersion within the Lords mentalities, if Stark were to declare himself King the realm would bleed.

And so Viserys continued to beg Baelor to reconsider, to send a raven to Winterfell apologising to Willam Stark, and offering him Daena’s hand. His nephew refused to budge on the matter, claimed that the Crone had shown him the wisdom in his decision, and that he would find another husband for his sisters once the Seven had shown him the right path. That had been nine years ago, they were still waiting for Baelor’s right path. Baelor had confined his sisters to the Maidenvault so that they would not tempt him or his court into mortal lusts, a foolish notion if Baelor ever had one.  He knew for a fact that Elena snuck out of the Maidenvault each night to visit her Velaryon cousin that she was likely pregnant with his child, he knew that Daena had snuck out on multiple occasions to meet lovers, and to send ravens to Winterfell. He also knew courtesy of Aegon that the boy Daena had just recently borne was his that had gotten him to think, would Stark still want Daena even though she had a bastard?

There were other pressing matters that he had to think of as well. His fool of a nephew had appointed first a mere peasant as High Septon, that had been a disaster, the man could not read nor could he write, the Most Devout had been close to rebelling, Viserys had had to have one of his men step in and end his nephew’s folly. The man was poisoned in his sleep, but his nephew proved his capability for foolishness once more when he appointed an eight year old boy to the position of High Septon, claiming that the boy could perform miracles, and yet the boy was unable to do anything to improve his king’s failing health.  Viserys knew what would be said once Baelor died, that he had been the one to poison the king, that he coveted the crown. All lies, each and every single one of them. His nephew was dying from the wasting sickness, all those years of fasting over eggs and other such nonsense had finally taken their toll on his nephew’s body, and he was beginning to waste away.

His nephew’s reign had  Viserys had to admit been one foolish mistake after another made by Baelor, and before the true consequences of his actions could be felt, it fell to Viserys to rectify the situation make sure that the actions were made to seem more favourable. It did take a lot of effort and patience, and of course with three children of his own to worry about Viserys constantly had his hands tied. Though he would give Baelor credit where it was due, after the war with Dorne, something needed to be done to ensure that there would be no more war, and it had been Baelor who, after walking across the Boneway to rescue the captives, had proposed a marriage to secure the alliance. Viserys’ grandson Prince Daeron had married Princess Myriah Martell, Prince Mors’ daughter. The couple had been married two years previously and had just had their first child, whom they had named Baelor in honour of the current king.

The marriage had brought peace to the realm, and with the peace had come a promise from Dorne, they would become a part of the Seven Kingdoms in due time. Both sides would put aside their anger over Daeron’s war, and would learn to forgive and move forward. Though whether or not they would forget was a completely different matter altogether, and one which Viserys did not think he would be alive for long enough to truly see or influence. He only prayed that those who followed him would be able to counsel the next king wisely, and fairly.

He entered the small council chamber and looked at the table where he had sat with Baelor’s council, and before that Daeron’s, and before that Aegon’s. And if he tried very hard he could remember coming here as a small boy, when his grandfather had still been king, before the Dance, and he remembered being perched on his mother’s knee as the matters of state were discussed. The small council now was much different to how it had been then. Back in the days of his grandfather the talk had been of the succession, and of Andal customs. He remembered Ser Cristan Cole, the Kingmaker he was known as now, how he had argued fiercely first for Viserys’ mother and then later once Viserys’ grandfather began to grow ill for Viserys’ uncle. The man was a traitor and had justly died a traitor’s death on the banks of the Blackwater Rush during the Dance. The small council during Aegon’s reign had been all about reconciliation bringing back those houses that had sided with the pretender and allowing them some forgiveness.  Viserys knew of course that whilst they may talk of forgiveness in the open, neither he nor Aegon had truly forgiven those who had betrayed their mother, nor had Aegon ever truly come love his bride, the one Velaryon forced on him, that traitor’s daughter, Viserys knew that his brother had come to love his Velaryon bride though.

The small council during Daeron’s reign had been brief and short, war was the hot topic, the small council was made up of the boys Daeron had grown up with. Damon Lannister as Master of Coin, Robar Baratheon as Master of whisperers, Quellon Greyjoy as Master of ships, Lord Commander Odrick Arryn, Willam Stark as Master of Laws, Grand Maester Tyrell, and then there was Viserys. A young small council except for Viserys, Tyrell and Ser Odrick, and yet hungry for war nonetheless, and war they had gotten. Baratheon and Ser Odrick had died in Dorne alongside Daeron. Lannister and Stark had come back different men to the ones who had ridden south in the first place, and yet Stark was back in the north and Lannister remained in King’s Landing, no doubt at the urging of his lord father.

Viserys’ thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, calling for whoever it was to come in, he found himself looking at his son Aemon, Aemon who had donned the white of the Kingsguard and had distinguished himself in Dorne. “His grace is calling for you father.” His son said solemnly. Viserys nodded and got up out of his chair and followed his son to Maegor’s Holdfast and the rooms of the King. When he entered he saw Maester Marwyn leaning over Baelor applying some sort of funny smelling lotion, gathered around the King were Aegon and Naerys. Viserys kept walking till his nephew could see him, Baelor was breathing heavily each breath was a task for him; his skin was as pale as milk. Sweat beaded down his skin, yet when he opened his eyes the violet irises seemed to be more alive than ever. He grasped Viserys’ hand and tugged on it. Viserys moved closer.

“Free them,” Baelor whispered. “Free Daena, Rhaena, Elena. I was wrong. Free them.” He said.

“I will your grace.” Viserys promised.

Baelor’s eyes closed then, but he spoke still. “Write... Winterfell....tell....Willam...I’m....sorry.”

“I will Your Grace.” Viserys promised once more.

“Good.... let me rest now.....the gods are waiting....father....mother....Daeron.” Baelor whispered his voice getting quieter and quieter with every word.

“Rest Your Grace.” Viserys said, Baelor kept his eyes closed and spoke no more. He kept hold of Viserys hand though, until a great cough wracked his body and blood came out of his lips, and then his breathing stopped all together. Behind him he heard Naerys crying softly, Viserys turned to Maester Marwyn and said “Tell them to ring the bells of the Sept. The king is dead.”

* * *

**Daena**

She was free. Ten years her brother had seen fit to keep her imprisoned and at last she was free. True her freedom may have come more from her brother’s death than any good will her uncle bore her, but she was still free. It had been a long ten years, made longer by the fact that she no longer had Willam by her side to give her comfort as she raged and cried over her brother’s follies, and the fact that he would not bed her, as was the practice. Numerous times over her imprisonment had she cursed the Seven, and her father, and even on rare occasions Daeron. If Daeron had not died in Dorne, she knew he would have set aside her and Baelor’s marriage and allowed her to marry Willam, after all how many times had Daeron told her that Willam was as good as a brother to him?

But alas Daeron died in the Dornish desert and Baelor came to the throne, he set aside their marriage but did not allow Willam and her to marry. Daena knew Willam had been wroth, especially because Baelor had rejected the proposal in front of court and had insulted him. Before he had left for Winterfell, they had bedded each other, with a fierce passion and desire, and she had kept that desire to herself for most of her captivity, she had drunk moon tea after when he had left, so that he would not suffer the consequences. She had tried to remain faithful to her wolf, but she was a woman of passion and action, and the waiting and the captivity were getting to her, when her cousin Aegon proposed a way for her to break free, the only condition be that she sleeps with him. And so she did, and so thoroughly did she enjoy the freedom that sneaking out of the Maidenvault gave her, that she slept with Aegon twice more. It was that third and final time that Daemon was conceived, she was sure of it.

When it was found that she was pregnant, Baelor came storming into the Maidenvault all pious anger, demanding to know whom the father was. She refused to name Aegon, and when Daemon was born, she decided she would raise him herself, Baelor be damned. As it happened she knew that Elena had been sneaking out long before she ever had, to see their cousin Alyn Velaryon. The day Daemon was born, Baelor fell ill, and she was convinced that it was a sign from the gods; they were punishing Baelor for being a fool, a pious fool who had rejected an honourable proposal for her hand, and had in turn insulted some of the oldest gods in Westeros. Her brother had died for that crime, she was certain.

Baelor had done one thing in his reign, one thing he would be remembered for. Just as Daeron was remembered for conquering Dorne, Baelor would be remembered for giving the kingdoms to the Dornish. In arranging the marriage between their nephew Daeron and Princess Myriah Martell, Baelor was effectively ensuring that the Targaryen line, and the Iron Throne would be continued by a Dornishman. He should have had Daeron marry either Rhaena or Elena, not some Dornish slut, who more than likely would not stick to Daeron’s bed. Whatever ill will she bore towards Aegon and Naerys for having the freedom to roam around the Red Keep whilst she and her sisters were kept in the Maidenvault like common criminals, could not be put on Daeron, Aegon and Naerys’ son, he was such a sweet, kind and caring boy. A bit bookish, that was true, but better that than to be a lustful man like Aegon was. Daena knew that her cousin kept many mistresses, littered throughout Westeros, during Baelor’s reign he would keep them hidden, but it was common knowledge where  he would go when he went out of King’s Landing.  She knew not how Naerys put up with her husband’s foolery, but then again she supposed that having a brother in the Kingsguard, helped. Prince Aemon had won much renown for his fighting in Dorne, and in defending his sister’s honour against the slanders of Ser Morgil, had earnt himself a place in the history books, already he was being hailed as the finest knight to have ever lived.

But she could not dwell on that, she would not dwell on that. After ten years of being kept cooped up inside the Maidenvault she was finally free, free to do as she pleased when she pleased, by decree of her uncle, King Viserys the second of his name. Elena had had two bastard children by then with their cousin Alyn, a Jon and Jeyne Waters, but Alyn had died of a fever a few days after Baelor had, and so Elena had quickly been married off to some Lord Tyrell or Hightower, who now served on their uncle’s small council. Rhaena had become Septa; her years spent in the Maidenvault had made her all the more religious than she had been as a child. And Daena, what did she wish to do? She wished to find the quickest horse and ride all the way to Winterfell and kiss Willam right on the lips, and never stop kissing him.

Of course she could not do that, not now anyway, not with Daemon only a year old, perhaps when he became older she would. But then she was worried, what if Willam no longer wanted her? What if he found her less desirable now she had a child who was not his? All these thoughts constantly kept running through her head during and since she had given birth to Daemon. It was why she had not written to Willam since she had found out she was pregnant, she was scared he would reject her.

She need not have worried. Willam came down to King’s Landing, the new Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to pledge fealty to her uncle King Viserys II, and once that was done he asked for her hand in marriage. Daena felt her heart begin to flutter nervously, as she waited for her uncle to respond, she prayed to the old gods and the new in the time it took for her uncle to respond, and she prayed that the said yes. King Viserys had always been a solemn man and one who would weigh each word before he spoke, and then had been no different. He had looked at Willam, who had his head raised; almost daring the king to refuse, and then a small smile crept up onto the old king’s face and he said the words that Daena thought she would never hear. “Lord Stark, you would consent to marrying a woman who already has a son who is not your own?”

Willam straightened up and looked straight at her when he replied. “Any child of Princess Daena’s is as good as mine Your Grace.” Daena felt her heart swell with love for him, this northerner she so desperately wanted to call husband.

King Viserys looked at her then, “And what of you Daena, will you consent to marrying Lord Stark?”

Daena tried to keep her face expressionless but could not help the big smile that broke across her face. “Yes Your Grace. I do.”

Her uncle smiled then, a true smile, a smile she had not seen since before her aunt had died. “Good. Then it is settled. Lord Willam Stark and mine own niece Princess Daena Targaryen shall be wed.”

Daena’s heart leapt with joy then, and afterwards when court had been dismissed, she had lead Willam to her chambers and kissed him and fucked him senseless, all to express her love and gratitude to him. Then when they were done, she rested her head on his chest, and listened to his heart beat, feeling content with the world. Though there was one thing she just had to ask, she had to be sure. “Willam?”

“Hmmm?” her betrothed replied sleepily.

“Did you mean what you said in court today? That any child of mine is as good as yours?” she asked hating how weak her voice sounded.

She felt Willam stir, and when she looked up his brown eyes were looking down at her. “Of course I did Daena. I love you, and you having a bastard does not change that. Daemon will live with us at Winterfell, and he will grow up alongside his brothers and sisters. And he will grow up loved.”

He kissed her then, but Daena had to know why. “Why though?”

Willam sighed then, and he sounded so sad that she yearned to kiss away the pain she heard in his voice. “My mother died when I was away. Beron grew up without a mother. Daemon should know his mother, he should know his family. And besides, had Baelor had the sense to do what your uncle did, Daemon would have been our son anyway.” With that he gave a playful growl and began kissing her again.

After the initial excitement of her betrothal and upcoming nuptials died down, Daena began planning her wedding. After the humiliation Baelor and his avid faith in the Seven had caused Willam, she was determined not to have a wedding in the Sept that had been built and had been named after her brother, no she insisted on having a wedding in a Godswood. But not the petty godswood that King’s Landing had, no the only proper godswood south of the neck was on the Isle of Faces in Harrenhal. That was where she insisted, her and Willam’s wedding take place. And so after much persuasion her uncle finally relented and agreed to have the wedding in Harrenhal, followed by a Tourney to celebrate it. The Lothstons were only too happy to accommodate the King’s request, and so the invitations were sent out, and anybody who was anybody came to Harrenhal for what some were deeming the wedding of the decade.

She knew Willam felt uncomfortable with the amount of pageantry being put on display for their wedding, and she knew that he would rather have just had a simple wedding, but as she was of the blood royal, there were certain things that needed to be done. But she did do her best to make sure he felt at ease, and when his brother Artos and his family came down to Harrenhal, Willam truly seemed to come out of his shell, and become more of the man Daena knew him to be.

The day of their wedding dawned bright and clear, the sun shining and not a cloud in sight. There was a light breeze in the air, but as Daena was helped into her wedding dress, she felt nothing but warm. Happiness radiated from her in waves, so much so that even Naerys who was usually very solemn seemed happy. She was helped down the aisle by her uncle the King, and when she saw Willam standing there in his grey doublet and matching tunic and breeches with the Stark cloak around his shoulders, her breath was taken away. He looked gorgeous.

 She stood beside him in front of the heart tree, as Lord Lothston, began to speak. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of two people. Two people in love, two people, and two houses. Who comes?”

Her uncle stepped forward with her and said “Princess Daena of House Targaryen. Who claims her?”

Willam spoke then. “I, Willam of House Stark, do claim her.”

Then Lord Lothston began to speak again. “Do you swear to love each other and guard each other’s secrets and lives from now till the end of your days?”

 “I do.” They said in unison.

“Then swear it by Ice.”

And so they swore it by Ice.

“Sweat it by fire.”

And so they swore their love by fire.

“And now swear by the old gods and the new, let any man who have reason for why these two people should not be married let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

When no one spoke, Lord Lothston smiled and said. “You may now kiss.”  And kiss they did, a long warm kiss that had Daena’s insides burning up with heat and love and passion.

And so it was that Princess Daena of House Targaryen, in the 171st Year after Aegon’s Landing became, Lady Daena Stark Lady of Winterfell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. The Man Who Would Be King

**The Unworthy**

Aegon Targaryen the fourth of his name was a man of voracious appetites. Be it food, fighting or women, he liked to have all three in plentiful amounts. The food came easily as Aegon the Fourth was first a prince and then the King of the Iron Throne and to deny him anything would mean your head on a spike. The women came easily as well, for Aegon was a charmer, he had a easy manner with women, and of course knew all the tricks in the book, and of course being that he was a prince of the Iron Throne in his younger days many women flocked to him and the promise he showed. The fighting was harder to come by. As a prince of the Iron Throne in his youth he could not openly challenge any knight or man without degrading the family name, and of course no sane man would dare challenge a prince of the blood. So Aegon found his relief for his frustration through fighting in his cousin Daeron’s conquest of Dorne, earning a name for himself as a able and noted warrior. However, with his cousin Baelor’s ascension to the throne came peace, and with it came unlimited amounts of frustrations for Aegon.

For Baelor was not war-minded monarch and was content to leave Dorne in peace, so long as they gave him no reason to worry. Aegon was not a knight of the Kingsguard and also found competing in jousts in tourney much less fun, and as a prince of the Iron Throne he knew that he would not face any true threat to his person. And so his frustration grew, and he began to vent that frustration on the only two outlets left available to him: food and women. Food and women became very visible at court, not Baelor’s vices but Aegon’s, with his father as Hand though Aegon kept his more lecherous tendencies at bay, though he did occasionally indulge in the company of one Lady Stokeworth, despite being married to his sister Naerys.

There was no love lost between Aegon and Naerys, they had not been close as children, and of course Aegon knew his sister in reality loved their brother Aemon, but Aemon like all boys of seventeen had chased dreams of glory and honour and had joined the Kingsguard during the later months of King Aegon the Dragonbane’s reign. Aegon also knew that the rumours that their brother Aemon had cried during the day of his and Naerys wedding was not a rumour but was in fact the truth. He knew that his brother had loved Naerys since they were very little, but he did not hold by the rumours that Daeron was Aemon and Naerys child. For whilst the boy may be more bookish than a future king truly should be, there was a certain fire in him that reminded Aegon of himself, more so than Aemon.

His night of passion with Daena was more of a one off thing and was never spoke of again, at least not between Aegon and Daena themselves. Aegon had grown up with his cousins and Willam Stark, and he knew that Daena was deeply in love with Stark, it was why he had been so surprised when he had found Daena in his room one night during the later years of Baelor’s reign. He had been even more surprised when she had taken him in her mouth and ordered him to fuck her, but of course she was his queen and he was a Targaryen, and Targaryens had never faltered from their duty, and so they had fucked- it was never making love with Aegon, never- and then when Daena had begun to show the early signs of pregnancy he had known that the babe was his, though Daena insisted on remaining quiet.

Aegon’s father had ruled the realm as hand for night on twenty years, whilst Daeron warred and Baelor prayed, and yet when he himself came into the throne he was old and tired. Aegon knew this, he also knew that he would someday soon sit the Iron Throne, and he knew that that would bring even more attention from the fairer sex, something which Aegon had deeply looked forward to. His father had pursued a policy of peace as Hand of the King, and that was something he maintained as king. The marriage pact which Baelor had envisioned with Dorne had been sealed with the marriage of Aegon’s son Daeron to Princess Myriah Martell of Dorne, in the last year of Baelor’s reign. They had had a boy, a squalling black haired and violet eyed child whom they had named Baelor, the boy looked Dornish except for his eyes, but then again Aegon supposed that at least his son had had the balls to do his duty, unlike the uncle he so deeply respected.

The same time that Daeron and Myriah’s child had been born, Daena had given birth to a baby boy whom she had named Daemon, she had refused to name the boy’s father publicly, but in private when Aegon had come to see her after the babe had been born, she had told him what he already knew, that he was the father. Once Baelor died, Aegon’s father went about trying to repair the relationships that Baelor’s idiocy had nearly damaged. Viserys II was a smart man and knew that the North could pose a serious threat to the Iron Throne should they choose to rebel, and so he had given Willam Stark what he had always wanted a marriage to Aegon’s cousin Daena, at the Isle of Faces, and Daena and Daemon had gone north to Winterfell with Willam Stark.

A year later Aegon became king. And he found that being king was much more fun than being heir to the throne. Everyone listened to him and did as he said, he had more women and food than he had ever had before. And of course with his son married to a Princess of Dorne, he had the perfect hostage to give reason for his war on Dorne. He had built wooden dragons and called his banners, intent on finishing the work that Daeron had started. The war had failed, the Dornish being the snakes that they were had burnt his dragons and the men inside of them, and had bled his army with cowardly attacks in the night.

But Prince Mors Martell was a smart man; he agreed to become part of the Seven Kingdoms formally if Aegon’s soon to be born daughter married his son Maron. Aegon in a rare moment of good sense agreed and so he waited patiently for his daughter to flower, but in the back of his mind he always kept an eye on how his son was doing in Winterfell and simply bade his time, waiting for the right moment to break the agreement with Dorne.

Aegon’s lusts eventually cost him his brother Aemon. Aemon had risen to be the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard and had died defending Aegon from the Toyne brothers who had been fool enough to try and kill Aegon, in revenge for him having ordered Ser Terrence Toyne killed, torn piece by piece for having been found in bed with one of Aegon’s mistresses. Despite the hypocrisy of what he was saying, Aegon had ranted and raved and said how the Kingsguard were sworn to a life of celibacy, and that he was the dragon, and that the dragon did not share, with anybody. House Toyne had been out of favour ever since, and Aegon had continued on with his lusts.

The food and drink eventually caught up with him, and soon Aegon found himself with a belly, where before there had only been chiselled skin. He grew a beard to hide the many chins he had. His suspicions about the truth of Daeron’s parentage began to grow as his body mass grew. With Lord Reyne whispering in his ear about how the commons whispered of the wolf dragon his son Daemon, and how he even at such a young age seemed to be showing great promise with the sword and every other weapon he wielded, and how Daeron was unduly influenced by the foreign Dornish viper who was his wife. Aegon sent word to Lord Stark in Winterfell in the 180th year since Aegon’s Landing, asking for Daemon and Stark’s son Daeron to be sent to King’s Landing to foster.

When Aegon set eyes upon his son for the first time, it was like he was looking at a mirror image of himself at the exact same age, there was no doubting that Daemon was his. As he watched Daemon grow to manhood before his eyes, he began making comparisons between his two sons, his bastard and his trueborn sons. He found that he liked greatly what he saw in Daemon; the boy clearly had an eye for martial skills, and from speaking to the master of arms at the Red Keep Aegon learnt that the boy knew how to wield a blade better than Ser Quentyn himself. Aegon’s trueborn son Daeron was more interested in books and bookish pursuits, and Aegon began to despair that perhaps the boy had come from his loins, for though his nature was more like that of Naerys, there was a fire and a stubbornness was all Aegon, or was it Aemon?

As the years rolled by and Aegon watched Daeron grow up, and then later saw Daemon grow, it became harder and harder for Aegon to keep convincing himself that Daeron was actually his son, and that his wife had not cheated on him with their brother as the singers were wont to say. Naerys had died of a fever three years before Daemon had come to court, and Aemon had died a year before Daemon came to court, and so there was no one there for Aegon to truly question about the stories and whispers he heard around court and those that were brought before him by Lord Reyne.

Aegon made up his mind when he held a tournament in King’s Landing to celebrate his nameday. All the knights and nobles of renown came to the capital to attend, compete and watch. Daemon was only ten and two, but fought with the skill of a man with much more years and experience behind him. He unseated three knights of the Kingsguard, the famous Ser Ullrick Dayne, and David Lannister and then engaged in a two hour long tilt with Ser Mathis Tyrell a knight of great renown, before he eventually won the duel. So impressed with his bastard son, Aegon decided on the spur of the moment to knight him there and then. He knighted his son, and when he saw Daemon rise as Ser Daemon Waters, he felt such pride and joy at seeing one of his children achieving something with life, more so than he ever had with Daeron, or any of Daeron’s grandchildren.

Aegon’s habits eventually came back to haunt him, and in his forty fourth year of life he was taken ill. The maesters told him that the food and the drink had all gone and clogged some parts of his heart and other important organs, and that he only had a few moons to live. And so he began crafting his will, he had his hand Lord Massey and the other members of his small council fix their seals to two copies of the will, and then had them stored away for after he was dead, when they read the contents of both wills they could decide what would be done. It was one last joke that he would play on Westeros, the land of his birth, the land his father had given so much to, the land that both idolised and ridiculed the Targaryens, they would suffer for their foolishness once Aegon was dead. To make justly sure that his plans worked effectively, on his deathbed with his dying breaths, with Lord Massey present in the room he legitimised all his bastards and gave them a claim to the Iron Throne, he also gave Blackfyre the sword of kings to his bastard Daemon and then died with a smile on his face, the first he had smiled in many years. 

* * *

**Willam**

In the years that preceded his marriage to Daena, Willam Stark stayed in the north, brooding and helping his father to oversee the reconstruction of Moat Cailin, the ancient northern fortress. When he returned to Winterfell after nearly ten years away from his home, he found it much changed. His mother had died some years previously, and with her gone it seemed that most of the joy and enthusiasm that had existed in his childhood home. His father, always a grim and solemn man in public, had become grim and solemn man in private as well, the fever that had taken Willam’s mother had been building for some time, and yet from what Artos and Jeyne told Willam upon his return, their father blamed Maester Wyman for their mother’s death, and then when Maester Wyman had taken ill sometime before Willam’s return, their father did little to ensure the maester’s survival.

Willam also noted how in their mother’s absence Jeyne had taken up the mothering role for Beron, who was now ten and three and yet had very little memory of their mother. Lord Cregan himself though often grim and solemn did not seem to forget his duty to his children, and always made sure they were looked after and were cared for, and he had- Willam was relieved to note- rejected Lord Bolton’s proposal of wedding Jeyne to the heir of the Dreadfort, and had instead began talks with Lord Greyjoy about wedding Jeyne to Quellon. That was something that Willam was most happy about, for Quellon was as good as a brother to him, they had shared many, many good times in King’s Landing, and Quellon had helped Daeron in his conquest of Dorne. Jeyne herself had at first been reluctant to agree to the match, fearing that Quellon would be too barbaric for her liking- despite Willam’s words to the contrary- but she had eventually come round to the idea after meeting with Quellon thrice, and so had agreed to the match. And so ties between the north and the Iron Islands were strengthened when Jeyne and Quellon married in the 165th Year after Aegon’s Landing. The alliance was sealed completely when their son- Willam’s nephew- Dagon was born three years later.

 Willam’s brother and twin Artos had married a Karstark, strengthening the ties between the two families. His brother and his lady wife had three children by the time Lord Cregan died. Two sons Brandon and Benjen and a daughter named Melissa. Lord Cregan had told Willam one day during a private meeting between the two of them that he intended to give the finished reconstructed Moat Cailin to Artos as his seat and for his children and their children to hold. For Cregan had taken to heart the offence King Baelor the Blessed had dealt his son, and had adopted a policy of isolation.

Beron, the youngest of Cregan Stark’s wolf pups had considered joining the Night’s Watch, as a third son he had very little to truly inherit, and Willam knew that despite what the southerners might think, there was honour in serving the Night’s Watch. However, when the keeper of the keys to the Wolf’s Den died, Lord Cregan informed Lord Manderly that he intended to give the Wolf’s Den to Beron, and that was how Beron Stark, the third son came to be Lord of the Wolf’s Den, and ancient Stark seat. As part of the agreement Beron married Lord Manderly’s eldest daughter Wylla. By the time Willam became lord of Winterfell, Beron and Wylla had had one son and one daughter.

Throughout the ten years that followed his leaving from King’s Landing, though his father and then he received many offers for his hand, Willam refused them all for there was only one lady that he would ever give his heart and his love to, Princess Daena Targaryen. When he returned home from King’s Landing with his pride hurt and his mind plagued by nightmares of Dorne, he turned to his father for help, and Cregan Stark proved his mettle once more as a father. He listened as Willam talked all about what he had done in the years before he returned to Winterfell, about the Conquest of Dorne and the nightmares he still had, about Daeron’s death, about he and Daena, about Baelor’s idiocy and the plotting of the court. Throughout it all his father sat in silence and listened, and then when Willam had finished speaking, Lord Cregan looked at his son with his solemn grey eyes and told his eldest born son, that the Targaryens were proud and vain, and that made them fools. Some were cleverer fools than the other members of their family, but they were still on the Iron Throne, and so long as they were the north would never truly be safe and free. He also told Willam that it mattered not that Willam and Daena had sex before marriage, for Viserys Targaryen was one of the less foolish Targaryens and would make sure that somehow Willam and Daena ended up together.

Reassured that he was not about to be severly chastised for his actions Willam showed his father the crown of the Kings of Winter that Daena had given him in King’s Landing before he had left. His father looked at the crown in Willam’s hands an unreadable expression on his face, he did not ask where Willam had gotten the crown from, but Willam suspected that his father knew where it had come from. Lord Cregan remained silent for a very long time, before he eventually spoke. Even now the words of what he said caused Willam to shiver. “Keep it safe Willam. There will come a time when the north will awaken from its slumber. And when it does it will have need of a strong leader.” Cregan Stark had said with solemn face and an ominous tone in his voice.

Lord Cregan Stark died in the 168th Year after Aegon’s Landing from the same fever that had taken his wife and Willam’s mother. A slow wasting disease that took away his strength and Willam suspected his will to live. Cregan Stark died with his wife’s name on his lips. Willam Stark became Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North at the age of twenty and five, still unmarried but in his brother Artos and his children he had heirs, Moat Cailin was still to be completed when he became Warden of the North. Willam spent the next three years touring the north and getting better acquainted with his bannermen and the people he would be ruling for the remainder of his life. The marriage proposals eventually stopped about a moon before news of King Baelor’s death reached the North. The northern lords seemed to have accepted that their lord would not marry anyone except the dragon princess who had gained his heart. All the lords that is except for Lord Bolton, who having taken Cregan’s rejection humbly, fiercely persisted in having his daughter become lady of Winterfell, something that had never happened before as far as anyone was aware of, and something that did not happen.

When news came to Winterfell of King Baelor’s death Willam rode to King’s Landing to pledge fealty to the new king and with it hoped to marry his one true love. His wish was granted and so they married in the Isle of Faces, the only place south of the neck that had a godswood. A tourney was held in Harrenhal to celebrate the wedding, but Willam did not find the pageantry that was put on to his liking, he would have much preferred to marry Daena in the north, but she wished to marry in the south and he had never been able to refuse her anything and so they married in the south.  Willam knew that some whispered about how he was marrying a ‘spoilt woman’ as Daena had a bastard child, Daemon the boy was called, but Willam did not mind nor did he truly care. Any child of Daena’s was as good as his, and she also told him who Daemon’s father was and that what had happened that night was just a onetime thing. Willam understood though he had not strayed from his commitment during their time apart.

Only one thing soured his time spent back in King’s Landing and the south. Princess Myriah Martell, King Viserys II Targaryen’s granddaughter in law. The girl- for that was what she was- not only came from Dorne, she came from the ruling house of Dorne. The house that had had its people use cowardly and unhonourable tactics to undo all of Daeron’s hard work, she was the daughter of the man who had ordered the butchery of many good and honourable men who were only fighting for their king. And on top of that, the girl had had the nerve to insult Willam’s father and the north to his face. Calling the north a ‘land of savages’ and calling Willam’s father a craven. She also insulted Willam himself, calling him a butcher and a murderer, Willam kept silent throughout all of these insults, but when the girl had dared to insult Daena calling her a whore within his hearing he had lashed back. He had told her that she was lucky to still be alive, and that had her father and her people had any honour whatsoever they would all of ended up as heads on spikes.

Once the wedding was done Willam, Daena and Daemon rode north to Winterfell. Once there Willam continued his father’s policy of isolation from the south. He did not keep any contact with the south, nor did he much care for the antics of Aegon IV, he did not care that there were rumours circling the southern kingdoms that Daeron Targaryen, Aegon and Naerys child may not actually be Aegon’s, but rather his brother Aemon’s. Had he cared, he would have dismissed such rumours, he had grown up with both Aegon and Aemon, and had fought beside them both, Aemon was too honourable to shame his vows, despite the obvious love he bore for Naerys that was far beyond brotherly.

Willam and Daena’s first child together was born in 172 A.L. a boy with brown hair and violet eyes, whom they named Daeron, after Willam’s best friend and Daena’s favourite brother. Daeron and Daemon grew close to one another as they grew up from babes to boys in Winterfell, and by all accounts they grew even closer in King’s Landing, where they were sent to foster upon Aegon’s request to meet his son. Five more children follow Daeron’s birth. A boy whom they name Cregan born in 175 A.L. , a girl born in 177 A.L. whom they name Velena, another boy born in 180 A.L. whom they name Theon, and then three moons before Willam rides for war against Raymun Redbeard, and the day that work on Moat Cailin is completed twin girls born in 184 A.L. whom are named Barbery and Bethany. All of their children have their mother’s violet eyes and heart shaped face, Cregan and Velena have their father’s brown hair alongside their brother Daeron, whilst Theon and the twins have their mother’s silvery gold hair.

It is thoughts of his children that fill Willam Stark’s head as he fights against the Wildings at Long Lake. It is these thoughts and thoughts of his wife, that keep him going through the rain and the sleet and the mud, and the horror of watching his men get cut down in front of him by the wildlings. It is these thoughts that drive him to keep raising Ice one stroke after the other to hack and cut and slash the wildlings that come his way to pieces, and allow him to keep the anger at bay, anger at the Night’s Watch, anger that they did not keep the wildlings away like they were supposed to. Willam Stark dies with his wife’s name on his lips, he dies with his sword in hand, but he dies not with a sword through his throat or chest, but with his head loped off.

Willam Stark dies, and it falls to his brother Artos to kill Raymun Redbeard and beat the wildlings.

 

 

 


	4. Mouth For War

**Danaerys**

Her whole life has been subject to the whims of men, their lusts, their grasping for power. She was born two years before her father came to the throne, and she grew up with the knowledge that when she came of age that she would marry not the man she loved, but a man in a faraway place, a man from a place that had caused nothing but heartache and sorrow for her family, she would go to Dorne and marry Prince Maron Martell. That was the knowledge with which she had grown up with, a treaty signed by her uncle King Baelor the blessed, before she had even been born, signed and sealed by her brother Daeron’s marriage to Myriah.

Growing up she had never truly paid too much attention to the fact that in a few years she would be herded off to Dorne, to marry a man she had never met before. It had never truly occurred to her that that might not be what she wanted, for she had seen how her mother had acted and lived during the time she had been alive, and mother had never truly been happy, and she had been married to her brother, whom she had grown up with.  She had been like all over girls she now knew, dreaming idly about this stranger she would marry, how he would be as strong as the warrior, and as kind as her uncle Aemon. She had always pictured him looking somewhat like her too she realised. But whenever she asked her septa or her mother about her betrothed, they would always begin looking uncomfortable and would try and change the subject, and Danaerys never truly understood why.

Then she had met Daemon, and all of her childish dreams had gone away, and her world had changed. She had always known that she had a half brother, but of course being the perfect lady that she was, she never asked her mother or father about him. But she knew from speaking with Daeron that he lived in Winterfell with their aunt Daena and her husband Lord Willam Stark. Then she had been told that Daemon and his half brother Daeron were coming to live with them at court, and she had been so excited. They would be two new friends for her to play with, two new people to join her, Baelor, Brynden, Maekar and Aelinor’s games.

When she had met Daemon, her breath had been taken away, she realised that now. He looked just like their father had when he had been younger; she knew that was what the court whispered. He was strong and beautiful, and he was kind and smart, he was her half brother and yet she found that she no longer wished to go to Dorne and marry Prince Maron, whom she had never met. She wanted to marry Daemon, and have his children and live the rest of her life with him. When she had said something like that to Daeron, once when she had asked him why she had to marry Prince Maron, Daeron had smiled that sad little smile he often smiled, ruffled her hair and told her that she couldn’t marry Daemon because though he was their brother, he was also a bastard, and a bastard was not a good match for a princess of the Iron Throne.  Danaerys had been so sad when she had heard Daeron say that, Daeron had always been like a father to her, she looked up to him, and she had thought that when he became king that he would let her and Daemon marry, that he would not let some treaty get in the way of the love and feelings between two people he cared about. She had been wrong.

She had tried to appeal to her father, but her father had always laughed and told her that what had been arranged all those years ago would have to stand, that it could not change, that he would not change it. But she still remembered how on his deathbed, her father had spoken to her, and had whispered to her that he had signed a document, his last as king, breaking the marriage pact between herself and Prince Maron Martell, and that he had given it to his hand, and that when the time was right, she should go and speak to his hand and ask him for the paper.  She told Daemon about what their father had said, and he had looked so happy when she had told him, kissing her till they could not breathe properly. They had gone a few days after their father had breathed his last, and had gone to find their father’s hand of the king Lord Massey for the paper. Lord Massey had looked at them like they had spouted an extra head and told them that their father had not given him two papers, but just the one paper, which declared his intention of legitimisation of all his bastards- Daemon had bristled at that- and his recognition of Daeron as the true king.

Dejected and broken hearted they had walked back to their rooms hand in hand, but before they could say their goodbyes they had found Daemon’s half brother Daeron standing in front of Danaerys’ room a strange look on his face. Danaerys had never truly gotten to know Daeron, he was always hanging around with Aegor and Myriah’s lady in waiting Arianne, and never truly spent time with herself or Baelor or Aelinor. She knew though that Daemon loved him fiercely, and that Maekar and he were very, very close. So when Daemon asked his brother what he was doing in front of her room, and when she heard Daeron reply that he knew what had happened to the paper that Lord Massey claimed not to know about, she and Daemon had both felt their ears perk up in interest.

Daeron said that he and Aegor had seen Lord Massey tear the piece of paper bearing the three headed dragon seal, and throw it in the bin. When they had been sure that Lord Massey had gone, they entered the room and grabbed the pieces from the bin and pieced them back together and what the paper said had shocked them both. King Aegon had named Daemon his true heir and had disinherited Daeron, claiming that Daeron was a bastard, the product of a relationship between Queen Naerys and Prince Aemon. She and Daemon had been shocked into silence, unable to speak for several long moments, before Daemon had burst out laughing, not his normal confident laugh, no this laugh had been shaky and confused. Daemon had told his brother in a chastening tone, telling him not to believe what he had seen, that perhaps that paper had just been the same paper that Lord Massey had presented to Daeron stating that King Aegon had legitimised his bastards. When Stark, insisted that what he had seen was the truth, Daemon had gotten very, very angry and had told him not to be foolish or stupid, and to avoid spending so much time with Aegor.

Then news had come on dark wings from the north, news that Daemon’s adoptive father Lord Willam Stark had been killed fighting the wildlings that had invaded. Daemon and his brother Daeron went into mourning then, the atmosphere in their group became much more somber and thoughtful after that, they all tried to be more considerate toward Daeron Stark; even Aerys took his head out of his books and spent some time with Daeron and Daemon. Queen Myriah, however, was not so gracious. Danaerys was there in the throne room when the raven was read out before court, and Myriah said that “The wildlings had done the realm a service and that now there was one less barbarian and butcher in the realm.” There had been a shocked silence then, and then the whispering had started, a fierce and harsh whispering as the courtiers acted scandalised. Danaerys had looked up at the throne then, to see her brother the King simply staring at his wife, an unreadable expression on his face, Danaerys knew that he could not demand she apologies or retract her statement, as that would make the royal family look weak, but she had thought that he might have tried to curb the whispering that was going on around court instead of allowing it to become like the hornet’s nest that it had been.

Daeron Stark was the one who silenced the whispering. Stand rigidly and fixed to the spot, his violet eyes dark with anger, he spoke in a deadly quiet voice. “No,” he had said. “The wildlings did not kill a barbarian or a savage, Your Grace.” He took a step toward the throne, moving past Daemon’s restraining hand. Danaerys still remembers how his face had taken on a defiant look to it and how his eyes had hardened when he looked straight up at the throne, at her brother and her good sister. “They killed one of the greatest men to have ever lived in Westeros. They killed a man who did his duty, with honour and pride, which served his king loyally, and fought and bled with his countrymen. “She still got shivers remembering the next words that he had said. “They killed my father; they took the man who looked after Daemon when your own husband would not. No, when they killed my father they did not killed a barbarian or a savage, they killed a person who was worth fifty of every Dornishmen alive right now.” Danaerys still remembered how Daemon’s hands had tightened on Daeron Stark’s arm then, and how Stark kept advancing toward the throne, how with each step he took he seemed to be getting more and angrier. “My father fought for his people in Dorne, he fought honourably and justly, and how did the Dornish fight? How did your people fight my queen? Wit cowardly methods, like cravens they hid at night and fought in ones and twos. No true man fights like that. So no Queen Myriah, they did not kill just anybody, they killed my father, and I would be grateful if you could show his memory the respect and honour it deserves.”

The room which had been silent during Daeron Stark’s speech, burst out into frenzied whispering, Daeron Stark bowed once before Danaerys’ brother and then barged past Daemon and out of the throne room, leaving behind a stunned royal family.  Later, in the privacy of Daemon and Daeron’s rooms, Danaerys remembers Daemon fuming and shouting at Daeron Stark, calling him a fool and a brave idiot in equal measure. Aegor had been there as well she knows, sitting in the corner quietly as Daemon and Daeron argued and shouted at each other. Daeron Stark left for Winterfell the next day, and had not set foot in King’s Landing since that day.

In the Red Keep and King’s Landing thought, it was obvious that whilst life went on, something had changed. Daemon, she knew had not forgotten nor forgiven the insult done to his brother and his adoptive family. He became more restless, and was frequently away from court, and King’s Landing, and he did not spent so much time with her or Baelor or the rest of their group, instead he spent a great deal with Aegor, and even set up his own keep in the lands that their brother had given him, then he married. It was not a marriage for love, he constantly assured her, Daemon-her Daemon- married some Strickland girl from the Reach, a match arranged by their brother, in an attempt to quash the rumours circulating around the capital and the kingdoms about Daemon.  Each time a letter came to King’s Landing announcing the birth of one of Daemon’s children over the next eleven years, Danaerys felt something inside of her heart break, until she felt like there was nothing there left to break. Each time Daemon wrote to her, he constantly ended his letters with the words “I love you, and I swear by the old gods and the new that we shall be together.” But as the day of her marriage drew nearer she found that she could not make herself keep replying to his letters knowing that there was increasingly very little chance that they would ever be able to be together, and so she resigned herself to her upcoming nuptials to Prince Maron Martell, and tried very hard to push the thoughts of Daemon from her mind. 

Then came the raven that would change all of their worlds for years to come. Daemon had crowned himself king and was rebelling against their brother.

* * *

**The Winter Dragon**

Daeron Stark, son of Willam Stark and Daena Targaryen, brother to Daemon Blackfyre, Cregan, Velena, Theon, Bethany and Barbery Stark sat reading over the raven that had come written in his brother’s hand and thought back to the years and the events that had led them to this point. His earliest memories are of playing in Winterfell with Daemon, and then later Cregan joined their play. He had learnt from an early age that Daemon was not his trueborn brother, but that did not bother him, nor did it seem to bother his father Lord Willam. Daemon was made to feel as much a part of the family, as any other of Daeron’s siblings.

They did all the things that brothers did; they learnt their histories and how to manage the people who would be their bannermen through sitting in with Lord Willam when he held meetings. They learnt how to earn the people’s loyalty and their respect and trust, Daeron and Daemon observed Lord Willam as he would bring a member of the household staff to talk with him at dinner for alternate nights, that was as Daeron’s father would say “the only way to earn the respect and loyalty of the household staff, for how can you expect them to work and care for you when you do not even care to know them.” That was a lesson that both the boys had taken to heart, and it was something they spent time doing when they would play with the household staff’s children.

They learnt how to fight, first with wooden swords and then when in King’s Landing with live steel. Daeron himself was a good swordsman, but Daemon was like the warrior reborn even when they were both boys, any weapon he had in his hand he immediately became skilled and talented at wielding it. On more than one occasion when they would spar in the yard, they would both end up battered and bruised, though when they were younger Daemon would always end up winning, so much so that Daeron began waking up in the early hours of the morning whilst the rest of Winterfell was asleep and would practice with a wooden sword till he felt confident enough to spar with Daemon once more. Now they were able to fight for long periods of time and neither man would give quarter, exchanging victories.

Daemon was always more skilled at talking to girls, his Valyrian looks and natural charms had all the girls swooning and weak-kneed, Daeron himself whilst not a bad looking man, was quite shy, and so struggled to really attract girls. Though when they both came to King’s Landing that changed. He and Daemon stuck together initially, but then when Daemon met his other siblings Danaerys and Aegor, and his nephews and nieces he became friendly with them, leaving Daeron to sort of pick up by him. He became friends with one of Princess Aelinor’s friends Arianne Yronwood, and began talking with her and moving around with her and her group of friends. It was with her that he had his first kiss, and soon he was falling for her and her for him, much to Daemon and Aegor’s amusement.

 

Aegor was Daemon’s half brother on his father’s side, but was also Daeron’s best friend along with Daemon. When Daemon became infatuated with Danaerys and spent more and more time with her, it was Aegor who took it upon himself to spar and talk and play with Daeron and for that Daeron would always respect and like Aegor. Even if there were times when Aegor infuriated Daeron sometimes with his constant feud with his brother Brynden, over their sister Shiera. Aegor’s friendship, was the reason why Daeron always took his side whenever there was a dispute between him and Brynden Rivers, otherwise known as Bloodraven, it was why he never truly got friendly with his cousin King Daeron the good’s children other than Maekar.

When his father died, Daeron had been distraught, both he and Daemon had been. They had been spending more time together before the news had come written in Daeron’s uncle Artos’ sharp and precise hand. And when the news was read out in front of the court, at Queen Myriah Martell’s suggestion and then she called his father a savage and a barbarian, something inside Daeron snapped. He spoke back to the Queen, and told her exactly what he thought of her, and her Dornish filth, he paid back every single harsh word and foul look that she had given him during his short time in King’s Landing, and when he left with the hall muttering and whispering behind him, he walked out of the throne room with his head held high and he used his anger as his motivation and drive to return to Winterfell.

He came back to Winterfell and found it like a ghost town. His mother looked haunted and sad, his uncle Artos looked haggard and his uncle Beron seemed angry. His siblings except for Cregan did not truly understand what happened to have made their mother, who had always been so strong and so brave, so sad and broken. Daeron did though and so he did his best to ease the burden on his mother, he spent time learning the duties that would be expected of him now as Lord of Winterfell from his uncle Artos, and from Maester Reyne, he dealt justice to the wildlings who had escaped his uncles pursual, and he grew up quickly after coming back. His uncle Artos moved his family into the newly rebuilt Moat Cailin, and Daeron named him and his descendants as defenders of the neck, Daeron gave the ancient Wolf’s Den to his uncle Beron and instructed him to begin building a fleet.  He did what he could to help his mother raise his younger siblings and all the while he kept in contact with Daemon, Aegor and Arianne.

To Daemon and Aegor he spoke of life in the south, what their brother Daeron the good was doing, and how there was increasing tension within King’s Landing and some of the other southern kingdoms due to the increasing Dornish influence at court. Daemon wrote about his frustrations about not being able to marry Danaerys, and being forced to marry a Strickland girl, Daeron wrote his congratulations and apologised for not being able to attend the wedding, for the Queen would be attending the wedding, and after he had left King’s Landing, he had sworn that he would never attend an event in the south if the Queen was to be there. To Arianne he wrote of his problems, and fears and his difficulties, and she wrote to him with advice and words of her own problems, and over time they grew closer and closer, so that by the time he was ready and willing to wed and his mother had recovered enough to truly help organise a wedding, he put in an offer for her hand, and when the offer was accepted they were married in the 194th year after Aegon’s Landing. Their son Aegor was born nine months later with dark olive skin, dark brown hair and violet eyes.

Daeron also helped arrange the marriages of his other siblings, Cregan his younger brother who since Daemon’s stay in the south had become Daeron’s right hand man, was married to a Reyne of Castamere and given a keep a day’s ride from Winterfell.  Velena, he betrothed to their cousin Dagon Greyjoy, their aunt Jeyne’s son. Theon and the twins he had decided would be betrothed once things in the kingdom had been settled.  

For once the betrothal of Velena and Dagon had been confirmed, they had received a raven from Daemon informing them of his crowning as king and his rebellion against the Iron Throne, as well as a call to arms. Daeron the Good, the King on the Iron Throne had also sent a raven to Winterfell reminding Daeron Stark of the oath of fealty that he had given. Daeron looked at both letters and felt torn between his loyalty to the crown, and his love and loyalty to Daemon, his brother. His uncles Artos and Beron advised caution, they argued that it would be better to wait and see who made the first move, before making any rash decisions, but they of course had families of their own that they had to think of. Cregan argued that they owed it to Daemon to side with him and provide him with the strength of the north. Daeron’s own mother urged and begged him to call his banners and fight for his brother. Aegor even sent a raven, reminding Daeron of the friendship that he, Daemon and Aegor shared, and the times that they had all stuck together through thick and thin in King’s Landing.

As word came to Winterfell of the first skirmishes being fought in the Reach and the Westerlands, his uncles continued to urge caution, but his bannermen and the people of the north who had seen Daemon riding with Daeron and Lord Willam began crying out for the north to fight for Daemon. Daeron kept his cards close to his chest, and waited, and prayed. He too had a family to look out for and think about now as well, he could not, he would not put Arianne and Aegor’s lives in danger simply to satisfy some stuffy southerners, but of course Daemon was not one of those puffy southerners, he was Daeron’s brother, and so Daeron walked to the godswood, the place where he could hopefully find answers, find the truth that he was looking for.

He kneeled in front of the heart tree, and prayed. He prayed for guidance, to do the right thing, for how was he to know what to follow, his heart or his head? His honour or his family? As he prayed a light breeze rustled through the trees, the heart tree wept red ,and memories he had thought long forgotten came back to him. Memories of running through the godswood with Daemon, laughing as they stole food from the kitchens to give to their younger siblings, learning how to sword fight, Daemon teaching him a new move with a sword in King’s Landing. The look of pride and love on their mother’s face when presented her with her nameday gift and the words Lord Willam spoke to them one day long ago. “Honour is important; it is what makes us different from the wildlings. But honour can never beat family, it is family that keeps us warm and safe, it is family that provides us with love and care when we feel beaten. It is family that raises us from the dust, and makes us the stuff of kings.”

Daeron Stark opened his eyes, and found his wife looking at him from nearby, getting up he took her arm and walked with her back into the castle and as they went to the nursery he stood in the doorway and watched as she sang to their son and as he watched his son’s eyes begin to droop shut from sleep, he knew that there was only one way in which he could make sure that his son and his family and the north remained free. He kissed his wife on the brow and made for his solar, on the way he asked one of the servants to call for Maester Reyne, his mother, his uncles and his brother Cregan. He then entered his solar and sat down in the chair that had been in Winterfell for hundreds of years, and waited for them to come.

When they did come, he bade them sit and spoke. “As you know, my brother Daemon has declared himself king and has rebelled against the Iron Throne. Now, Winterfell is sworn to the Iron Throne through oaths of fealty, but the Iron Throne has done nothing but insult us and degrade my family since the time Baelor the befuddled came to power. Daemon is my brother, and is my blood, and is the rightful king. Maester Reyne call the banners, we march, and the south will know that the North remembers, it is time the Iron Throne remembered as well.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Red Or Black?

**Baelor Breakspear**

War had come to Westeros; it had come on dark wings. Baelor’s bastard uncle Daemon Blackfyre had declared himself king and was rebelling against the Iron Throne. Baelor suspected that the rebellion had more to do with the constant whispering that Bittersteel and Fireball had done in Daemon’s ear than any actual desire on Daemon’s part to be king, though with Daemon it was always hard to tell. Even when they were all much younger, Daemon was always slightly more reserved around Baelor and his siblings, and only truly seemed to show off his more charismatic side when he was with his brother Daeron Stark or when he was with Danaerys. That all changed though when after the tournament in which Daemon was knighted by Baelor’s grandfather, after that tournament the charisma that Baelor knew his uncle had began to shine through, and more and more people began to flock to him.

Looking back on it now, it does seem as if that day when Daemon was knighted, was the day when the rumours about whom Baelor’s grandfather truly wanted to be king started. Baelor’s father was by no means a warrior, for as long as Baelor could remember he had never once seen his father lift up a sword in practice or otherwise, not that Baelor minded much, for his father was a lovely, kind hearted man and was a good king, and an even better father. However, there were some courtiers, Baelor knew, who had feared that his father’s academic nature would lessen the influence that they enjoyed during his grandfather’s reign, people such as Lord Massey, who had been Baelor’s grandfather’s right hand man.

The rumours of Baelor’s father’s illegitimacy Baelor was convinced were not true, he knew, he had to believe that they could not be true, otherwise his father had no right to the throne, and despite being king, Baelor knew that his father if he truly believed that he had no claim to the throne, would step down, and accept his bastard status, thus allowing Daemon and his descendants onto the throne. Despite it being treason to think so, Baelor knew that Daemon himself would not be that bad of a king- he was smart and charismatic- it was just that his advisors were Bittersteel and Fireball, both of whom held grudges against wider Westerosi society, Bittersteel for his bastard status and the fact that Shiera Seastar did not love him, Fireball simply because Fireball had always been an angry man.

When the raven had come to King’s Landing announcing what Daemon had done, there had been uproar and chaos and panic in the streets and in court. All of the court had waited and watched with baited breath to see what Baelor’s father would do, Baelor himself had not been sure what his father would do. He knew his mother wished for his father to declare war on Daemon, but his mother had never truly taken a shine to Daemon, like his father had. Baelor knew that King Daeron saw Daemon more like a son rather than a brother because of the age gap between them, he also knew that despite whatever he might say in public, it had pained his father to have to give Danaerys to Prince Maron, even though the marriage agreement had been made many years before, Baelor knew that if his father could have had his way, he would have allowed Daemon and Danaerys to marry. But alas, politics dictated otherwise, and so Daemon was married off to a Strickland girl, and sired sons with her- seven if Baelor remembered correctly- and as such the Stricklands, Osgreys, Reynes, and countless other small but powerful houses had declared for Daemon when his initial raven had come.  Baelor’s brother Maekar, and uncle Bloodraven had been all for fighting Daemon- it was the only thing that they had really ever been able to agree on- whereas Baelor himself had pushed for a pardon for Daemon and the rebels, not Bittersteel or Fireball though, for they all knew that the rebellion truly was their idea not Daemon’s. Baelor had been overruled, and so the banners had been called and they had begun the preparations to march for war.

There had been only one small snag, the Starks had not answered ravens from either King’s Landing or from Daemon’s base in the Reach. Whichever side Winterfell declared for, could possibly end up winning, simply because the houses of the North would follow Winterfell to hell and back if asked to do so, due to an age old loyalty to the Starks, and Baelor knew because of the insults King’s Landing had done to Daeron Stark’s father and half brother, Daeron Stark himself was a formidable warrior- on par with Daemon- and if he said march, the north in all its glory would march. Countless ravens had been sent to Winterfell, and no response had come, and whilst they dithered in King’s Landing waiting for response from Winterfell, Daemon and his army had gone plundering and pillaging through the Reach. Lord Tyrell had been slain, as had his heir, and Highgarden was asking for help still, as Lord Strickland continued destroying their armies with the sizeable force that Daemon had managed to assemble.

Quellon Greyjoy had called his banners and had set sail for the Westerlands, burning the Lannister fleet at Lannisport, and attacking the coastal areas of the Westerlands, whilst Lord Reyne and Fireball led the land armies and attacked Lannisport and the Golden Tooth. By the time the Royalist army had finally assembled in King’s Landing, Lord Lefford was dead, Damon Lannister had been grievously injured and close to death, his eldest son dead, slain by Quellon Greyjoy. Lannisport was in flames, as was Fair Isle.  Baelor, Maekar and Bloodraven had marched from King’s Landing the same day word came from Casterly Rock of the burning of Fair Isle. They took their host and marched through the Riverlands, waiting for Daemon and his army to come, the aim had been to cut them off from Fireball and the Ironborn, when they had marched there still had been no word from Winterfell, and so it had been assumed that Winterfell was remaining neutral throughout the conflict though Baelor had his suspicions that, that was not, could not be the case.

Sure enough as they approached Riverrun, word came from the Twins, writ in Lord Frey’s slanting hand writing that Daeron Stark and 20,000 northmen were camped outside his walls with two banners- the red three headed dragon on black of House Targaryen, and the black three headed dragon of Daemon’s house- and that Daeron Stark dressed in full plate mail had ridden on a black warhorse with a flaming torch in hand, and had burnt the Targaryen banner.  That raven had come some four days ago, since then there had been no news from the Twins, but scraps of information had flown down to Riverrun, but it was all a jumble. Some of the news said that Lord Frey was dead, and that Daeron Stark had sacked the Twins. Other information said that Daeron Stark was dead, killed by his uncle Artos. Other news said that Lord Frey had killed Daeron Stark in single combat, other news said that the Twins had been burnt to the ground and that the northmen were marching south with great haste.

It was all quite confusing, but one thing was for certain, Daeron Stark would not rest until his half brother sat on the Iron Throne, Baelor knew that much about his cousin. Even when they were children, once Daeron had set his mind on something he would not stop until he had achieved it, and so if he had called his banners and was marching south, there was only one thing he could be set on doing- putting Daemon on the Iron Throne- and he would not stop until he was either dead or Daemon sat the Iron Throne, and that was something that Baelor could not allow, and so he, Maekar and Lord Tully sat and made preparations for when their scouts finally saw Daeron Stark and his army. Bloodraven had taken 2,000 men west with him to help Lord Damon and the Westerlands fight off the Ironborn, whether or not they would be successful was a completely different matter entirely. Their spies reported that Daemon and his army were still on the march north, approaching the Riverlands with great speed, something that did quite worry Baelor, because he knew that if Daemon and Daeron’s armies joined together, then the royalist effort would be finished. So they sat and planned and waited for more news on Daeron Stark’s movements.

Eventually, their scouts reported that Daeron Stark was marching with his army at a great pace. Their scouts also reported that the Twins had surrendered, Daeron Stark had laid siege to it, but had then offered Lord Frey terms- if he surrendered he got to keep his life and his family lived- something about that offer smelt of Lord Artos Stark- Artos Stark was known for being very practical and politically minded, whereas Daeron was not- and so the Twins had surrendered and had added their army to Daeron’s giving him an extra 2,000 men. The tidings kept getting worse and worse, as the scouts kept speaking. Armies had been assembled by Lords Blackwood, Vance and Piper, and all had been destroyed by Daeron Stark’s northern army, at the battle of Oldstones. Lords Vance and Piper were both dead- slain by Daeron himself- and their armies scattered.  To make matters worse, Daemon’s army was closing in on the Trident, which would give them a free route to King’s Landing unless something was done to stop them.

So it was decided that Maekar would march east to deal with Daemon and his army, with him would go the hand of the king Lord Hayford and the army of King’s Landing (some 5,000 men) with him would go Lord Arryn and the armies of the Vale (some 25,000 men). Baelor and Lord Tully would march north to meet and try and stop Daeron’s advance. The plans were made, and if they were successful, though it pained him to think of it, both Daeron and Daemon would be dead and the rebellion would be over.

The days ticked by and then it came to the battle day. Baelor put on his armour, said a quick prayer to the seven for guidance and to keep his family- his father, mother, his brothers and sister, his wife and his sons- safe and then mounted his horse. He turned to face Maekar who was also mounted on his horse, lifting his helm he spoke in a deep voice. “Be safe brother, do not do anything too stupid or foolhardy.”

Maekar chuckled, the sound resounding. “You as well brother, be safe, and I shall meet you in King’s Landing.”

And off they marched, Maekar for the east, Baelor for the north. They rode largely in silence, and stopped only when they could see the oncoming mass of men and armour that was the northern army, within the forestry of the Whispering Wood they had the perfect cover, the sun was just about to set. “The plan should work, Your Grace.” Lord Tully said.

Baelor said nothing but merely nodded, and then a few moments later several horns sounded in the distance, signalling the beginning of the battle, or ambush. Baelor drew his sword from its sheath and charged. He swung and hacked his way through men bearing various sigils- the flayed man, a merman, a roaring giant, a white sun and a black wolf- he hacked and swung his way through the northmen, cutting a bloody path, behind him he knew the white cloaks of the Kingsguard knights were close behind him.

A giant of a man wielding an axe came charging at him through the trees, Baelor brought his shield up just as the axe came swinging down. He managed to push the axe away and then brought his sword up in time, as the man brought the axe swinging down once more. Sparks began flying off of both weapons, as sword and axe clashed against one another, again and again, around him the battle crashed, men cut and slashed other men to pieces, horses neighed in distress, or in their death throes, men screamed and cried out for their loved ones.

Still Baelor kept his attack up, swinging and hacking at the man, sometimes connecting with his axe, sometimes his shield and other times striking his armour or flesh and drawing blood. The great giant of a man had the same luck with Baelor, and when Baelor finally managed to deal the killing blow they were both soaked through with blood, rain and mud.

He looked around the battlefield and inside his helm grimaced, it seemed there were more northmen still standing than there were Royalists. He turned around when he heard a horse draw up beside him, lifting his helm he saw Ser Willem Wylde of the Kingsguard there before him, concern etched on his face. “Your Grace,” he heard the white knight say. “Your Grace we must retreat, they are overpowering us.”

Baelor was about to shake his head, when suddenly he saw someone with auburn hair get cut down not so far from himself, he squinted to get a better look at whom it was that had killed the Tully, and found himself looking at a man with a wolf’s head helm, a ice white greatsword in his arms coated with blood. Baelor pulled down his helm, sheathed his sword and shouted out for his men to retreat, they would be slaughtered if they kept fighting. As he turned his horse around and spurred it back to Riverrun, he could hear Daeron Stark shouting at him, calling him a coward.

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**Bittersteel**

It had been twelve years since his father had died, twelve long years of hate, pain and heartbreak. Twelve years of injustice, Daemon should have been king when their father had died, not their craven of a brother, the man whom preferred books to swords, the man who went back on all his promises, the man whose wife had insulted Aegor’s best friend and his father.  No Daeron the good was not worthy of the crown he wore or the throne he sat, even their father had known that, that had been the reason why he had knighted Daemon and had given him Blackfyre upon his death, Blackfyre the sword of kings, given to Daemon a bastard and not to Daeron Targaryen, the heir apparent at the time. Daemon should be king, he would be king, their father had foreseen it that had been why he had had two wills drawn up, one which named Daemon king and the other which didn’t. Lord Massey the craven that he was, had torn up the first will and had had it burnt, but not before Aegor had seen it.

Daemon had been reluctant to rebel against their brother, had claimed that Daeron was a good king and that Baelor Breakspear would be the best king Westeros had ever seen. Aegor was not convinced, and had been about to point out all the injustices their brother’s family had done to Daemon’s adoptive family the Starks, when news reached them in the Reach of their sister Daenaerys’ marriage to that Dornish savage. That had set Daemon off, that had been the final straw for Daemon, that had been the thing that had pushed him into agreeing to rebel, to accepting being made king, crowned in the home of his wife’s family.

The martially inclined courtiers of their father and brother’s courts had flocked to their cause when Daemon had formally announced his rebellion. Men like Robb Reyne (who brought with him some 3000 men) Ser Eustace Osgrey, the Greyjoys had joined their cause, though Aegor knew that was more to do with the fact that Daemon had been fostered in Winterfell, and Quellon Greyjoy viewed Willam Stark as a brother and was married to Daeron Stark’s aunt. Daeron had not responded to their first few letters asking for his help, something that truly Aegor thought he should have offered regardless. The longer Daeron’s reply took to come, the more frustrated Aegor became, he questioned Daeron’s commitment to their friendship, and to his family, considering Daeron and Daemon were brothers. Throughout it all Daemon reassured Aegor and Fireball that his brother would join their cause, it was simply taking him longer than the others because, in the north they were full of honour and duty, and Daeron would be conflicted over what to do.

Whilst they waited for Daeron Stark to decide where his loyalty lay, they began the rebellion with a battle at the Mander. Their army containing some 10,000 Reachmen and some 1,000 Dornishmen courtesy of Mikkel Yronwood fought against Lord Tyrell and his much bigger host. Lord Tyrell though was no tactician, nor were his commanders’ warriors, Lord Strickland- Daemon’s goodfather- was the most warrior of the whole of the reacherlords, and knew the land around the Mander better than most of his fellow Reachmen.  This allowed them to dig pit traps in the mud around the Mander, and when the fighting broke out they kept pushing Lord Tyrell and his men back against the banks of the Mander and toward the traps. Lord Tyrell was slain by Daemon, Aegor slew Lord Tarly, and Lord Strickland slew his foe Lord Florent. The Tyrell heir, Mathis, being the fool he was thought to challenge Daemon to single combat to decide the battle, needless to say that fight lasted very little time and ended with Mathis Tyrell’s head rolling in the banks of the Mander.

After the heir to Highgarden’s death, the rest of the army led by Lord Rowan surrendered, and they marched further north. There was fighting between the border of the Reach and the Stormlands as Lord Edric Baratheon brought his men down from Storm’s End. The fighting did not last too long though, their greater host easily dealt with Edric Baratheon’s host, Baratheon, two of his sons and his brother were all killed during the fighting, Daemon then sent Lord Strickland and 3000 men off to lay siege to Storm’s End. The main army continued marching north, as they camped on the border between the Riverlands and the Reach; a rider came from Daeron Stark’s camp. With him he brought a letter written and signed in Daeron’s own hand. The letter spoke of how the Twins were now part of the north, and how he was marching south with great haste to put Daemon and his family on the Iron Throne, it also spoke of the battle Daeron had fought against some of the Riverlords at Oldstones, and the victory he had won there, and of how his uncle Quellon Greyjoy had burnt Fair Isle and the Lannister fleet to the ground, and of Lord Damon Lannister’s grave injuries.

After the raven came, Daemon decreed that they would march east to the Trident, to draw Baelor and Maekar away from Riverrun, and to allow Daeron the chance to take Riverrun. Then once that battle had been fought and won they would meet up in the middle and march on King’s Landing. And so they marched, they marched through the rain and snow, and through storms and mud, but morale was high, they were winning the rebellion, Daeron the Good’s armies were spread thing, Bloodraven had according to their spies gone west with some 2000 men to help the Lannisters deal with the Ironborn and the Reynes, though whether or not he would actually make it to the Westerlands was a completely different question once he heard of what was happening on the Trident.  The chance to be the one to kill that albino freak was something that Aegor Rivers deeply cherished and looked forward to. Victory was so close, he could almost taste it.


	6. Fields of Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two would be Kings and their thoughts of the Blackfyre Rebellion

**Daeron The Good**

Sometimes, when being king became too much, Daeron Targaryen would retreat back to his private library and sit and read some of the stories his mother used to read to him when he was a child. He knew that if he ever told anyone about this, they would laugh and call him not the Good but the Weak, and that it would only feed the rumours that he was not the true king, and that Daemon was the Warrior come again. That was why he never told anyone where he went when council meetings and discussions with his family became too much, he went there for peace and solidarity, and only Myriah knew what he did during those rare times.  This war was beginning to take away the last vestiges of patience that he had for his small council as well, with Baelor and Brynden away fighting, Lord Massey the man who had been his father’s closest advisor had become much more of a nuisance than he had been in the years preceding the rebellion.

With each report of a Blackfyre victory, Massey was constantly at Daeron’s ear begging him to stop the fighting and to welcome Daemon back to the fold. Daeron had his suspicions as to why Lord Massey was so keen for Daemon to be pardoned, and they did revolve around a certain piece of paper that his father had allegedly written before his death. Each time Massey asked him to end the war and pardon Daemon, the stronger Daeron’s will to win grew, he would not let Daemon- as much as he loved his brother- destroy the kingdoms by becoming king, for Daeron knew that it would not be Daemon who would truly rule, no that would fall to Bittersteel and Fireball, and both men were too full of anger and bitterness to truly and effectively rule. If it were Daeron Stark who would become Daemon’s right hand man- and Daeron knows that this is a treacherous thought and would undermine all he has worked for- then perhaps he would not be so reluctant to allow Daemon back into the fold, but of course Daeron Stark had made it very clear during his last few days in King’s Landing and in that letter he wrote from the Twins that he had no intention of ever living in the south again.

Daeron is still haunted by the words that were spoken in the throne room when news came of Lord Willam’s death. Of the pure loathing that he could hear in Myriah’s voice when she spoke of Lord Willam Stark, of the pure hurt and anger in Daeron Stark’s voice and posture when he promised revenge. He was getting that revenge now, he had burnt the Targaryen sigil in front of the Crossing- the beginning of his revenge- and then he had laid waste to the Twins, and then at Oldstones he had destroyed Lords Piper, Vance and Mallister’s armies. And then he had marched for Riverrun, Baelor and Lord Tully had taken some of the royalist forces to meet him before he could get to Riverrun, and their sources had reported a fierce battle in the Whispering Wood, a very fierce battle. Stark had slain Lord Tully, and his brother Cregan had killed Lord Tully’s heir. The royalist army had scattered when it became apparent that victory was not on the cards, of Baelor there had been no word, he had been last seen fighting one of the northmen, bleeding profusely, but still standing.

The news that Baelor was missing- potentially dead- had destroyed Myriah, his wife who was so fragile of health as of late, there was a sickness in her that the maesters were struggling to find a cure for, and the disease was eating her alive. Her once rich and healthy skin had become deathly pale, and her hair, her luscious black hair was turning grey and falling out at an alarming rate. Daeron did know where the sickness had come from, they were in the middle of one of the warmest summers he had ever known and that some at the Citadel thought was the long summer come, there was little to no illness in the kingdoms or in King’s Landing, though of course the kingdoms were bleeding through war. And with their children out there leading the royalist effort, Daeron knew that Myriah was sick with worry, fearing that they would receive word of some catastrophe, hells he even felt sick with worry, he loved his children dearly, he truly did, but he also loved Daemon dearly, and he could not bear to think of what would come of Daemon should he lose this war, nor did he truly wish to know what would come of him and his family should they lose the war.

He had spent many a night since the rebellion had begun trying desperately to think of why Daemon would rebel. Daemon had never shown any sort of anger or resentment at being bastard born, as far as Daeron could tell, he had grown up first in Winterfell, as the loved and cared for adoptive son of Lord Willam Stark, he had grown up in a loving and caring environment in Winterfell with Daeron Stark, and then when he had come to King’s Landing so had Daeron Stark, the two of them had always been thick as thieves, and then the two of them had become friends with Aegor, and had gotten up to more mischief. Never throughout the time when Daemon was in King’s Landing had he ever shown any signs of resentment. Though once news had come from the north of his adoptive father’s death, and Myriah had said those words, and Daeron Stark had left for the north, there had most certainly been an edge or an angry gait to his walk, and he held himself like a man with lots to prove.

It did not help Daeron thought, that Aegor had taken up the place that Daeron Stark had once held, as Daemon’s right hand man, and had begun whispering in his ear, about his rights and what was being denied to him. Aegor had thought he was being very subtle by whispering in the places in King’s Landing and out in the lands that Daemon had been given by their father, but Daeron had men everywhere, men who were loyal to the crown and to him, and Brynden had men who were loyal, and they reported all of that which Aegor spoke of. It had been with great reluctance that Daeron had had to deny Daemon and Danaerys to one another, there had been a pact sealed in ink and blood when Daeron had married Myriah that needed to be honoured, and Myriah’s nephew was of an age with Danaerys and was to be her husband. Daeron knew, of course he knew, -his two siblings were like his children- that Daemon and Danaerys were in love with each other, and that they wished to marry, but he also knew that he could not risk offending the Dornish by allowing them to marry, nor could he truly risk allowing them to marry, for the whisperings that Aegor was putting into Daemon’s ear were getting more and more treacherous by the day. And so he decided that Daemon would marry a Strickland girl, Delena her name was, and he hoped and prayed that Daemon would come to love his wife as much as he loved Danaerys.

Delena had given Daemon seven sons and three daughters, and yet Daeron knew that Daemon still wanted Danaerys, and so it was with deep regret that he formally announced her marriage to Prince Maron Martell. That was when Daemon rebelled and called for war. The Reach was the first to bleed, House Strickland rallied behind Daemon, as did House Osgrey, House Ambrose, House Bulwer and House Cockshaw all rebelled and joined Daemon’s cause, and at the Mander Daemon proved himself to be a skilled commander as well as a warrior, defeating and killing the inept Lord Tyrell and his heir. That display earnt Daemon the respect of Lord Rowan, the only remaining commander of the royalist forces in the Reach, and so Daemon got another 20,000 men, and Daeron saw hope begin to slip.

Storm's End had been under siege by Lord Strickland but Daeron’s spies reported that the man had led his armies north to the Trident to follow Daemon and Aegor and their army as they went to meet and do battle with Maekar and Lord Hayford’s forces.  Quentyn Ball and House Reyne and House Tarbeck and the Greyjoys had plundered and attacked the Westerlands, Damon Lannister- one of the men that both Daeron and his father had respected- was lying injured in Casterly Rock from a battle with his friend Quellon Greyjoy. Daeron knew that Lannister had been reluctant to fight against his old friend or even against Willam Stark’s sons, and so despite the immense loathing that he felt for himself for doing so, Daeron had taken two of Lannister’s sons as hostages and had decided to keep them in King’s Landing until the war was over, to ensure the man’s loyalty.

The Westerlands were burning though, the Ironborn were going on a full scale rampage, plundering, pillaging and raping to their hearts content. Brynden had marched with 2000 men from Riverrun to deal with them, as of yet there had been no news from him on that front, though Daeron did suspect that perhaps the Ironborn would retreat back to the Iron Islands at some point soon- he may not be great with weapons, but he did know a fair bit of military strategy- and he knew that the Ironborn were not made for long term warfare, they would burn themselves out on raping and pillaging, and then they would return back to their homes. He could only hope and pray that they would burn out before the final battle that he knew, that he could sense was coming.

As had often been happening since the rebellion had broken out, Daeron found his thoughts wondering back to the rumours that seemed to have started it all. Those who did not like him, nor the direction his reign and court had been going, had latched onto a rumour that some blasted singer had started after being in his cups for too long one night, that he Daeron Targaryen second of his name, was not the true King of Westeros, that he was in actual fact the bastard son of his uncle Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his mother Queen Naerys. The singers often sang songs of his uncle’s doomed love for his mother, and when he had been little and seeking male affection that his father never seemed willing to give, he had gone up to his uncle and asked him whether or not he- Daeron- was his- Aemon’s- son. His uncle’s expression, usually so stoic and unreadable had flickered into something that seemed like despair and then hurt, and then anger, but of course Daeron had been too young to see the subtle changes then, but as he had gotten older he had found it curious, his uncle of course had brushed off Daeron’s question and told him, that no he was not his father, merely his uncle.

Daeron had never plucked up the courage to ask his mother, his mother who had had to put up with so  much hurt and suffering, his mother who had stayed by Daeron’s side when he had been an insecure boy growing up, his mother who had been there to comfort him when the other boys at court had mocked him for preferring books than swords. His mother, who until he had met Myriah had been the strongest person he had ever met, who had put up with all the slanders that his father had dealt her with his many mistresses, and the bastards that had appeared as a result of these whims his father had had.  His mother who had died broken and tired, his mother whom he had lost, his mother....

King Daeron II’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking at the door, looking up he saw Ser Terrence Appleton of the Kingsguard standing there looking nervous. Daeron looked at him enquiringly. Appleton swallowed and said “Your Grace, I know you asked not to be disturbed but Grand Maester Lewyn is asking for you. He says its to do with her grace the Queen.”

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**Daemon Blackfyre**

The air smelt crisp, a slight breeze was passing through the camp. Somewhere off to the north was the Trident, glittering in the summer sun, Daemon Blackfyre- the King Who Bore the Sword- looked around the camp and nodded to himself, the banners of House Strickland, House Rowan, House Osgrey, House Ambrose, House Cockshaw, House Reyne, House Tarbeck, House Yronwood, House Peake and House Costayne flew around the camp. The Lothstons had turned their cloak once more, and had gone back to the Targaryens for fear of a reprisal should Daemon not emerge victorious in the battle to come. Aegor had suggested marching on Harrenhal and teaching them a lesson when the raven had come, but Daemon had decided against that, it would not do to have their army spread out so thinly with the royalist forces so close at hand. No they would fight Maekar and whoever else it was that would be fighting for his brother today and they would defeat them and then they would take King’s Landing and end the dynasty of Viserys II once and for all.

Daemon took out the letter from his pocket that had arrived last night, the letter had come from his brother Daeron Stark, and within it his brother wrote of his victory in the battle of the Whispering Wood, he wrote of the deaths of Lord Edwyn Tully and his heir Tytos, he wrote of the scattering of the royalist army that had come with Prince Baelor- the fact that Baelor had not marched with Maekar from Riverrun still surprised Daemon, he had honestly not thought his nephew capable of falling for such an obvious trap- Daeron also wrote of Baelor’s injuries and how he was being held in a prison camp. Daemon found himself impressed and proud of his little brother’s achievements. Taking the Twins, smashing a Riverlands host at Oldstones and now defeating an army led by warriors as renowned as Baelor and Lord Edwyn Tully, yes his brother had definitely proved himself, worthy of being a Stark and of succeeding their father as Lord of Winterfell. Once this war was over and he sat the Iron Throne, Daemon fully intended on giving his brother and their family the recognition that they were long overdue and that had not been forthcoming during Daeron Targaryen’s reign.

Daemon still felt the old anger boil inside of him whenever he thought back to that day when the raven had come from Winterfell informing them of Lord Willam Stark’s death, he remembered the pure mirth that had been in Queen Myriah’s voice when she spoke of how fitting it was that a savage such as Daemon and Daeron’s father had been killed by savages, he still remembered how angry and upset Daeron had been, he remembered the promise of vengeance that Daeron had made before he had left the capital twelve years ago. _Soon brother, soon we shall have our vengeance for the insults they have done to father, to mother to the North._ Daemon thought, and he could not help but feel his pulse quicken at the thought of plunging Blackfyre into Maron Martell’s heart as well, the man who would think to take Danaerys away from him.

He had known ever since he could walk and talk properly, that Danaerys was meant to marry some Dornish prince, but he had never truly been able to accept it. Danaerys was so beautiful, she looked like the sun and the moon, and she was the maiden come to life. She did not deserve to have to rot away in some Dornish desert with a man who would not love her, simply because of some pact their fool of an uncle had made to bring Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms. Daemon still remembers speaking with King Aegon- the man may have sired him but Lord Willam would always be his father- about the possibility of marrying Danaerys when they were older, King Aegon had laughed mirthlessly in front of his courtiers and told him that such a thing would not be possible, for Daemon was merely a lowly bastard, not a fit match for a princess of the blood, feeling sad and dejected Daemon had been about to leave when suddenly the king had dismissed his courtiers and had asked Daemon to sit down, and in hushed tones had told him that he was working on making the Dornish match go away and that if he had his way Daemon and Danaerys would be able to marry.

Daemon had left that day feeling very, very happy, but then King Aegon had died and Daeron Targaryen had come to the throne, and with him had come the poison of Dorne, with him Daemon’s dreams of marrying Danaerys had gone up in smoke. Daeron had had him married off to Delena Strickland, and whilst Delena was a lovely woman and had borne him many children, he could not find it in himself to love her more than he loved Danaerys, and it was the one failing of his life that he deeply regretted. Delena was such a beauty and was so nice and kind that she deserved someone who could make her feel loved and like a queen that she deserved to be, she did not deserve to be stuck with a man still pining after another woman. That was not to say that Daemon was not fond of her or did not like her, oh no he was very fond of her and liked her a lot, it was just that he could not bring himself to feel anything more for her. Of course he loved their children though all of them, Aegon and Aemon who were his squires and promising warriors, Daemon who was the bookish one, Haegon who reminded him startlingly of Maekar, Daeron who reminded Daemon of his brother Daeron Stark and was another warrior in the making, Maegon who reminded Daemon of Cregan a lot and Aegor the baby of the family.          And his daughters, Sara,  Shiera and Delena, all of them he loved fiercely and he itched to see them again, he desperately did, but the only way he could see them now was to win this war and take King’s Landing.

He was confident that they could win the battle today and with it the war. Baelor was a prisoner, Bloodraven was nowhere to be found and Maekar and his men looked like they were about to starve to death according to Daemon’s spies. Furthermore, the Reach had all but fallen to their efforts, Lord Tyrell and his heir were both dead, the new Lord of Highgarden was nothing more than a babe at the breast, and Highgarden itself was fastly becoming a smoking ruin, Damon Lannister had been lying injured in the Rock for three moons now, the Greyjoys had answered Daeron’s call to arms with much vigour and the Westerlands were a smoking ruin now. The Stormlands were quickly falling under Blackfyre control after Lord Baratheon’s death and the death of his son and heir, the other houses of the Stormlands were either surrendering or being forced to swear loyalty to him, and Daeron was conquering the Riverlands one castle at a time and most likely would hold Riverrun by the end of today, yes he was confident and had every reason to be.

Daemon put the letter back into his pocket and headed back into his tent, it was time to don his armour. Calling for his sons Aegon and Aemon to help him, he began fastening the different pieces of armour onto his body, all the while going through the plans for the battle that would take place today. Aegor would take the right, Ser Robb Reyne would command the left, and Daemon would personally see to the leadership of the Van, the reserve would have been commanded by Fireball but Daemon’s old mentor had been slain by Bloodraven on the eve of today’s battle, so instead Ser Eustace Osgrey would lead the reserve, the man was capable but whether or not he would be able to hold his nerve was something that would be interesting to see, though Daemon was still not sure whether or not he truly wished to gamble the full battle – should it come to it- on a man whose whims were famous throughout Westeros. Once his armour was on he said one final word to his sons. “Aegon, Aemon. Today we shall stand and fight for what is ours by right, today we shall fight to rid Westeros of the vipers that plague. Know that no matter what happens today that I am and always have been proud of both of you, and know that I love you with all I have,” his sons nodded, though he could see Aemon almost welling up with tears. “Go now and prepare Aegon send for Aegor I would speak with him before we begin.” His sons nodded and headed out for their separate ways.

Daemon sat down in his tent, dressed in full armour except for his dragon winged helm which lay on the bed beside him, and waited for his half brother to arrive. Aegor was one of his closest friends, but though they shared the same blood, they were nowhere as close as Daemon and Daeron were, though that was to be expected, for both Daemon and Daeron had grown up together and had always had each other’s backs through thick and thin. He was still confident though, that should anything happen to him today, that Aegor would do what he could to ensure that his children were protected and kept safe. A guard outside his tent announced Aegor’s presence and so Daemon stood up to greet his half brother.

They clasped hands and Aegor said “You called for me Your Grace.”

Daemon nodded. “Sit brother, I would speak with you.”

Aegor did as he was bid and Daemon sat down soon after. “Today we fight the most important battle of this war, I have had dreams of the possibilities that could come from today. As you know Daeron has defeated the royalist army commanded by Baelor Breakspear, and holds the man prisoner, so we will not have to worry about their army coming to chase us in the rear. Still Lord Arryn and Hayford have command of the Van and the left. Maekar has the right, so you will be facing him, and Bloodraven is marching even as we speak. I do not trust the man, and fear he may use some treachery to ensure a loyalist victory. Should something happen to me today, I want your solemn vow that you will take my children away from Westeros for a time, until you can build up enough support for them to come back and reclaim what is ours by right. Daeron will help you, I know he will, but the voyage north will be long and treacherous. Should I fall, take Aegon and Aemon with you, take them far from here.”

Daemon paused for a moment to allow Aegor time to digest what he had said. After a moment of silence his half brother nodded and said “I will do as you command Your Grace, though I do not think such a plan will need to come into action.”

Daemon nodded his thanks and then replied, “Go now Aegor, get ready, we march in peak.”

Aegor left his tent and Daemon put on his helmet and grabbed Blackfyre from where it rested and attached it to his armour in its sheath. He walked out of his tent and got onto the horse that Aegon and Aemon had saddle for him, then he waited for them to mount their own horses, and once that was done he spurred his horse onto where the men who made up the van waited for him. He stopped before them and looked at them, 15,000 men made up the van of the Blackfyre army for this battle, some bore the coats of arms of minor but powerful houses in the Westerlands, the Reach and Dorne but all bore the sigil of House Blackfyre, the black dragon on a field of red. Raising his visor so that he could speak, Daemon swallowed once and then spoke. “ Men, today we come to fight a foe that believes itself in the right. Today we come to fight a foe that houses vipers who would corrupt Westeros to their unholy ways. Today we come to fight, to right a wrong that has been done to us, to my family and to yours. Today we fight and today we win!” The answering roar of approval from the men was nigh on deafening, but Daemon felt his blood begin to sing, this was what he was born to do, not the innate politicking of court, no fighting and sparring was what he was made for.

He drew Blackfyre from its sheath and raised it toward the sun and in a loud and commanding voice shouted, “Men of Westeros.... CHARGE!” And so the battle began. The two armies crashed into one another, Daemon swung his sword once and cleaved a man in half, he swung his sword again and his opponent lost his head, he swung his sword again and this time the foe lost an arm. Soon he came face to face with a man bearing the falcon of House Arryn; this was the loyalist van then. Daemon and the man charged at one another. The falcon man swung his sword but Daemon blocked the swing on his shield, and then pushed the man’s sword out of the way and swung across the man and struck true, denting the man’s armour.

The man swung fiercely in retaliation but his strokes were wild and without refinement, and so where they were intended to strike Daemon’s body, they only succeeded in striking his shield and sword. Daemon was more successful in his fight back, swinging his sword like the warrior himself, he swung and hit his target once and dented the man’s armour, he swung and struck his target twice and dented the man’s armour above his heart, he swung a third time and his sword buried itself deep inside the man’s chest, piercing through the armour and into the skin beneath. When Daemon pulled his sword out it was covered in blood, the man of House Arryn fell from his horse blood spurting from the wound Daemon had made.

Daemon spurred his horse forward, and cut down any man who came in his path. A deft swing here, a forceful hack there, and soon the bodies began to pile up behind him as the men who fought for the Targaryens began to fall like flies. Blood coated his sword and it littered the ground which drank it greedily like a drunk at a bar. Around him the battle raged like a tide coming in, the sound of steel on steel screeched from every corner of the field where they fought. The sound of men fighting and dying, the screams as the wounded cried out for their loved ones rang loudly in Daemon’s ears even as he put more and more men to death and sent them to meet the stranger.

The next man he came up against who truly deserved his respect was Wyl Waynwood, a man of good repute but still no match for Daemon on this day. The two men circled each other, and it was Waynwood who made the first move swinging his sword like a mad man, Daemon swerved to the right causing Waynwood to overbalance slightly, something that Daemon took full advantage of slicing at Waynwood’s bottom half, cutting through the man’s armour and drawing blood.  Waynwood retaliated with a fierce assault slicing, hacking and swinging like his life depended on it, and it did Daemon supposed. Some of his attacks range true cutting Daemon in several places and denting his armour. But Daemon was still the better fighter, more controlled and more able to preserve his best for when it mattered. With a quick feint to the left and then to the right he had confused Waynwood and then when he lunged forward Blackfyre outstretched Waynwood only realised what Daemon had done to him when it was too late and Blackfyre had pierced through his chest and his blood was gushing out of the wound in his chest and onto the ground.

Daemon pulled his sword out of Waynwood and said a quick prayer to the Old Gods that the man’s soul found peace in the afterlife, before he spurred his horse forward, and found himself face to face with the Knight of the Ninestars. They circled round each other, both sizing the other man up, before the Knight of Ninestars spurred his horse forward and lunged forward so suddenly that Daemon was caught unawares and hissed painfully as he felt the man’s sword strike his gauntlet and felt blood begin to pour out of the wound in his left hand. The cut made it slightly difficult to keep a solid hold on Blackfyre, but Daemon managed and was able to get the Knight of Ninestars back in kind, swinging his sword like a man possessed, he swung and swung and the more he swung the further back he pushed the Knight of Ninestars, and the more damage he did to the man’s body and horse, so that by the time Daemon stopped to catch his breath the blood was still flowing from his cut but the Knight of Ninestars was a shredded wreck on the ground bleeding from so many cuts and wounds on his body and face and person in general that he would be unrecognizable once the battle was done. Daemon rode on.

Around him the battle still raged, it seemed to be going well for the men of the Vale seemed to be severly depleted compared to how they had been when the fight had begun, but Daemon could not be too sure. So he spurred his horse on further and soon found himself face to face with Ser Gwayne Corbray of the Kingsguard, one of the fiercest and best fighters in Daeron Targaryen’s Kingsguard. The two men spurred their horses forward and met in a clash of steel, finally there was an opponent who would be worth Daemon’s while. They exchanged blows, Blackfyre hit Lady Forlorn, and Lady Forlorn hit Blackfyre. Blackfyre hit Corbray’s armour, denting and scratching it, Lady Forlorn hit Daemon’s armour and dented it.  Daemon swung and hit Corbray’s shield, Corbray swung and hit Daemon’s shield.

This process happened for what seemed like hours but it was perhaps no longer than a few minutes, but eventually it was Daemon who managed to break through the cycle feinting to his right drawing Corbray out from his comfort zone and thrusting Blackfyre up in an arc and piercing Corbray above his right leg, when Daemon pulled his sword out the man was bleeding from a deep wound and was panting heavily. Daemon went to hit Corbray in the chest but found Corbray had lifted Lady Forlorn up and managed to block his swing, locking them in a stalemate as both men tried to force the other to break away or give up.

Steel on steel screeched in Daemon’s head, as sparks began to fly from both men’s interlocked swords; both men were putting all their strength into the swords trying to push the other man out of the combat. Eventually Daemon won out, and managed force Corbray down with a mighty push that caused sparks to come flying from both swords. The push was so strong that Corbray fell from his horse and his helmet came off when he hit the ground; Daemon to make the fight fairer dropped down from his own horse and advanced on Corbray hand raised out to help the knight up. By the time he got close to Corbray the man was already up and had Lady Forlorn raised and so their dance began once more.

They charged at one another, gone were the forms of convention and propeity that had dictated their earlier duel, now this was something primal, some base instinct. Steel hit steel and sparks flew as both men pushed the other to their limits. Corbray nicked Daemon’s armour thrice, once above his heart, once above the same cut he had made earlier and once in his chest. Daemon struck Corbray in the chest, in the eyes, in the stomach and in other places as well, so that by the time Corbray finally managed to knock Daemon’s helmet off of his face, the man was bleeding heavily in several places and one of his eyes was swollen and closed and bleeding profusely.

Daemon felt tired now, his body and limbs ached, all he wanted was a nice hot bath and to hold Delena in his arms, funny how he had thought he didn’t love her, when in the midst of battle, all he could truly think of was her, and her brown hair and olive skin, and her lips and.... He had no more time to daydream Corbray had swung at him and Daemon had just managed to avoid having some part of himself hacked off by raising his shield up in time. He responded by pushing Lady Forlorn out of Corbray’s hands and then raising Blackfyre up quick enough that he was able to pierce Corbray’s other eye before the man could raise his shield.

Corbray fell to his knees, battered and bloody, blind in both eyes and cuts all over his face and dents all over his armour. But Daemon acknowledged the man’s bravery and honour and called for Redtusk, when the big burly man came forward he said in as kingly a voice as he could manage given how exhausted he was “Take Ser Gwayne to the rear Redtusk and have our maesters see to his wounds.” Redtusk bowed and helped Ser Gwayne to his feet and toward the rear.

Daemon watched them go and tried to catch his breath but before he could so much as look round for his sons, he heard an arrow whiz by and heard someone scream in pain, and felt his gut clench... Aegon. He turned toward the sound of the scream, and sure enough there was his son Aegon kneeling on the ground an arrow protruding from his throat, blood pooling at his feet. Daemon screamed, “Aegon! Aemon where are you?” His second son Aemon came running, Daemon turned to him and said “Find Aegor Aemon, find him and stay with him.”

Aemon protested “What about Aegon father? What about you? I can’t, I won’t leave you alone father!”

Daemon would not hear it. “No go Aemon, I will be fine, I must help Aegon. Go find Aegor and stay with him, when this is done I will find you. I promise.” And so Aemon reluctantly ran off into the distance with Addam Osgrey and Ser Lewyn Ambrose following him.

Daemon drew Blackfyre from its sheath and walked toward his eldest son. But as he got closer to his son, Daemon felt a sharp pain in his back and legs, straining he saw that there were arrows protruding from those parts of his body, shaking his head he marched on forward determined to reach his son even if it killed him. Just as he was about to reach Aegon to help him, he felt an arrow pierce his neck, and then another arrow pierced the top of his right leg forcing him down to the ground. The world was beginning to go black, the ground was moving to quick for his liking, and he could taste the blood in his mouth, he tried to speak to call for Aegon to get up and run, but his vision went blurry and his words would not form, he blinked heavily, and tried to get up but before he could another arrow pierced his skin and this time the pain was too much. Daemon fell head face into the ground and moved no more, blood pooled around him and still the battle raged.


	7. Kings Rise and Kings Fall

**Bloodraven**

Daemon Blackfyre was dead, his body was strewn across the ground from Brynden and yet he still could not believe what he was seeing, nor could he truly believe what he had done. Whilst Daemon had been engaged in a fierce duel with Ser Gwayne Corbray of the Kingsguard, Brynden and his Raven’s Teeth had climbed up the weeping ridge, and had found a suitable position from which to litter the Blackfyre troops with arrows. It had been pure chance and luck that he had spotted the personal banner of Daemon flying in the wind as he had knocked his bow ready to release the first arrow. He had known that if he could injure or kill Daemon then the rebellion was as good as over, for his brother had only children no grown heirs and no lord in their right mind would fight for a child when there was a grown man with proven military skill waiting to succeed their father as king.

The question had been how to kill Daemon, his brother had been fighting like the warrior in human form, killing all who thought to challenge him, he had cut down Wyl Waynwood and the Knight of Ninestars as well Lord Arryn’s heir, and then he had severly wounded Ser Gwayne, but Daemon had always had one weakness, he was too chivalrous. Instead of leaving Ser Gwayne there to rot and die like any other would be king would have done, he insisted on protecting the knight until he could get one of his own men to escort Ser Gwayne to the rear to be seen to. That was where Brynden had found his opportunity, knocking his bow he had fired an arrow, but it had gone too far and instead of striking Daemon it had struck Daemon’s son Aegon killing the boy, Brynden had felt some remorse when he had realised what had happened, no child should have to die for their parents sin. But then Daemon had made to move toward his dead son, and so Brynden had taken advantage of the next movement that Daemon had made and had fired off several arrows and had had his Raven’s Teeth fire at Daemon. Daemon Blackfyre had died with so many arrows buried deep within his body that Brynden had been surprised he had managed to survive for as long as he had. Then again Daemon had always been stubborn and brave.

Brynden was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of deafening roar. Turning his head he saw a massive army coming towards himself and the Raven’s Teeth, looking closer at the men who seemed to be charging at them he realised that it was his other half brother Bittersteel who was leading the charge. “Ravens draw your bows, we have company.” He barked. He knocked his bow and fired out arrow after arrow, trying desperately to slow his half brother’s advance, he watched as the men fighting for the Blackfyres fell down to the ground, arrows buried in their bodies, their blood adding to the ever growing redness of the field where the battle had been thought. And yet Bittersteel did not stop the charge, no matter that his men were falling all around him, there were Targaryen men still present guarding the ridge where Brynden and his archers stood, and they were cut down by Bittersteel and his men, Bittersteel was fighting like a man possessed showing each and every single skill that he had as a warrior.

Realising that Bittersteel would likely not stop the charge and that unless he did something there would likely be a massive loss of life Brynden drew Dark Sister from its sheath and began stepping down from the ridge calling for his men to do the same. He met the first Blackfyre assailant head on, swinging his sword in a massive arc and bringing it down in one swift motion, cleaving the man’s head from his body. He stepped over the man’s fallen body and continued on his path toward Bittersteel, his blood was beginning to sing with anticipation. He swung and hacked a bloody path through the remaining Blackfyre soldiers, cleaving maybe three or four soldiers’ heads off, cutting of a few hands and arms and maybe a few legs and burying Dark Sister deep within a few soldiers as he went. He paused briefly and looked up to see Bittersteel doing the same, truly fighting like a man possessed, cleaving his way through the Targaryen soldiers still remaining, his sword stained red, the ground stained red and black.

It was Bittersteel who spoke first when they came face to face with weapons in hand for the first time in many, many years. “Kingslayer, traitor.” He snarled. “You fought for the wrong side brother, you killed your king, and you killed your brother and your nephew. You are cursed in the eyes of gods and men now.” Bittersteel spat into the ground to show his distaste of Brynden.

Brynden said nothing; silence had always been the key to coming out on top when dealing with Bittersteel he had come to realise over the years.

Bittersteel snorted. “Nothing to say brother? Too ashamed to admit what you have done. No matter, when I have killed you, it won’t matter. Shiera shall be mine then, and she won’t be under whatever foul spell you have put her under.” Still Brynden said nothing, though the mention of Shiera had rankled something inside of him, Bittersteel was deluded if he ever thought their sister would ever willingly join him. “Very well if you will not say anything let us settle this with steel.” Bittersteel said, the old hint of anger creeping into his voice as he drew his sword.

Brynden drew Dark Sister, and out the corner of his eye noticed how it glistened red in the pale sunlight. He and Bittersteel circled around each other, both men trying to tempt the other into making the first move, the first mistake. Bittersteel had never truly been the most patient of men and therefore it was no surprise that it was he who made the first move, lunging to his left and pushing Brynden back even though he had raised his shield in time to block the blow of Bittersteel’s sword. Bittersteel moved away then pulling his sword with him, and their circling continued. The ground was covered with blood, and as such was very slipper and so both men were taking care not to make any sudden movements which of course made it very easy to predict what they were going to do.

This therefore meant that whenever either man moved forward to make a blow, the other man would have enough time to raise their shield or their sword and block the other’s strike. Eventually though, both men’s shields were broken and tattered and ended up being discarded, and that was when the real battle began. Brynden advanced forward and struck Bittersteel on his left shoulder, denting the armour there. Bittersteel grunted and retaliated by feinting to the left and then bringing his sword sharply up and striking Brynden on his right shoulder, denting the armour so badly that blood began to pour out of the crack that had appeared.

Brynden moved to the side when Bittersteel made to swing again and ended up using Dark Sister to block his half brother’s attempt at splitting his ribs, sparks flew from their swords as the sound of steel on steel screeched loudly in the field. They broke contact only for Bittersteel to begin a series of fierce and quick thrusts and jabs at Brynden, some of which struck their mark and dented his armour and opened fresh wounds on his body, others of which struck his sword and caused even more sparks to fly from their swords.

Eventually Brynden managed to find a way to break through Bittersteel’s frantic attacks; he moved back when Bittersteel jabbed to Brynden’s right causing Bittersteel to wobble slightly due to the force with which he had gone in for the jab. Seizing on the opportunity which had presented itself, Brynden quickly brought Dark Sister up and struck Bittersteel on the face, cutting him and drawing blood. Once Bittersteel had been forced to move back, due to the force of the blow, Brynden advanced forward Dark Sister drawn and began his own attack, swinging and jabbing at his brother with as much grace and forcefulness as even Daemon could have managed. It largely worked, every time Brynden swung his sword he struck true, and either dented Bittersteel’s armour or opened a fresh wound on his body, so that by the time he had moved back to catch his breath, not only were they both breathing very, very heavily they were also both stained red with blood and their armour was also dented very heavily in several places, their swords were stained red and the ground was littered with droplets of blood.

And still Bittersteel did not stop, he moved forward with sword raised and hacked once more at Brynden, this time going straight for his head, Brynden managed to duck just in time so that Bittersteel’s sword whooshed over his head, and when Bittersteel went to bring his sword back down, Brynden kneed his brother in the stomach winding him, and causing him to drop to his knees. With his brother lying there on his hands and knees, blood pouring from several wounds on his face and person Brynden staggered back, feeling the weight of what he was about to do truly hit him, he had never really liked Bittersteel, but the man was kin, they shared the same father, seven hells even he and Daemon had shared the same father! He drew Dark Sister and raised it high above himself ready to bring the blade down, when Bittersteel spoke.

“Brother,” Bittersteel sputtered. “Wait, please brother wait.”

Brynden hesitated Dark Sister hovered awkwardly in the air. Bittersteel went on. “I know we have not always got on, and that we have fought for the opposite sides during this war, but before you kill me know this, I have always respected and admired you. Live a good life brother.”

Brynden felt something build in his throat, what is was he could not say, but suddenly he felt a strange urge to go and help Bittersteel to his feet so that the man could live for another day, the urge was completely mad. But still he found his feet bringing him to stand before Bittersteel and he found himself stretching out his hand, offering to help his brother up.

He only felt something was off when Bittersteel grabbed his hand, and instead of getting up pulled him down and laughed manically, and drew a small dagger from his person and said “Oh Bloodraven you fool.” Then all he felt was pain, a blinding pain as the dagger was plunged into his eye, and then he fell backwards onto the dirt and darkness engulfed him.

_In the darkness he dreamed. He dreamed of Shiera, and the warm nights they would spend together in King’s Landing making love to one another and talking about what they wanted from the world. He dreamed of his mother, well what little he remembered of his mother, and how she would always sing to him before he went to bed, he also dreamed of his father and the disapproval that always seemed to be there in his eyes whenever he looked at Brynden, as if he was ashamed of having made such an ‘abomination’. Then he dreamed of Daemon, his brother, the boy he had been in King’s Landing and the games they had played with Daemon’s brother Daeron, and how it had been Daemon who had first made him feel accepted for who he was and not what he was, and then Daemon’s face when the arrows had pierced his body came floating into his vision and Brynden screamed as he saw his brother’s corpse begin to rot and worms and other horrors began to flow out of it. Then there was Daeron, his brother, the one who had made Brynden a man, the one who had always loved and respected him. Brynden dreamt another dream, a more real dream a dream he understood. He saw the smoking ruins of Lannisport after the Ironborn had come and raped and pillaged there, he saw the bodies of the men he had taken with them after the battle with the Ironborn and the rebel Westerlords. He heard the crying and the screams of the dying men and the cries of the women and children as the Ironborn came back with more strength, and inside Brynden Rivers began to sob, he had not been able to save them all, he had failed them._

_Then he saw a stunted creature with red eyes, eyes like his, standing in front of a weirwood tree with its hand out, as if asking Brynden to come and join it. “Brynden” the voice seemed to whisper. “Brynden, wake up.” The voice whispered, and Brynden wanted to say that he didn’t wish to wake up, he was having too strange a dream and if he woke up he would have to face the complexities of real life and he was not sure that he was ready just yet for that. But the voice was insistent._

Four days after the Battle of what would later be called Redgrass Field – for the amount of blood spilt there- Brynden Rivers woke up in a tent and found himself surrounded by the commanders of the Royalist army who had survived the battle, there standing at the foot of his bed was Maekar his face seemed older and more dishevelled, next to him was Lord Jonos Arryn, heavily bandaged as he was the man still cut an imposing figure , and there standing very close to Brynden was Shiera, Brynden had to blink several times to make sure he was not imagining what he was seeing, how had she got here?

It was Maekar who answered that question for him, glaring at Shiera all the while he said. “She came two days ago, apparently Shiera was in the area, we thought you would die so we did not see why she should have the chance to say goodbye.” He said no more, and he had no need to, Brynden looked at Shiera and grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

“What happened, did we win?” Brynden managed to ask, his voice a whisper.

Maekar answered once more. “Yes we won. Once the rebels realised their precious Daemon was dead their ranks began to break. They lost many of their key generals, but Bittersteel and Redtusk managed to rally the remainder of their men and led a fierce charge. Redtusk is dead, killed by Ser Roland, but Bittersteel managed to get away once he was done taking your eye out.” Maekar paused then, and only then did Brynden think to check and see if what he said was true, and it was there was a gaping hole where his eye had once been, and he remembered the dagger being plunged into his eye, he shuddered involuntarily and Shiera tightened her grip on his hand. Maekar went on. “Bittersteel managed to flee south with some of the Blackfyre’s commanders such as Ser Eustace Osgrey and Ser Gormon Peake. Our scouts report that they fled south to their base in the Reach and are even as we speak planning on escaping to Tyrosh. His Grace has ordered that we let them go for the time being.”

Brynden did not know why Daeron would order such a thing, but one look from Maekar said that they would speak of it later.

Maekar cleared his throat then and said, “My Lords if you could give me and my uncle and my aunt some private time, there are some family issues we must discuss.”

This was greeted by several “Yes Your Grace.” As several men whom Brynden had not seen in the tent left it. Once they were all gone Maekar turned and faced Brynden once more, and this time Brynden could see the fear plainly written all over his nephew’s face, it was a rare show of emotion for Maekar. “Father ordered that we let Bittersteel and the other Blackfyres flee back to Tyrosh because we have more pressing problems. Aemon Blackfyre managed to escape the battle with Addam Osgrey, Ser Lewyn Ambrose, Ser Alyn Ambrose and Ser Jon Costayne. They are heading north for Winterfell, or Harrenhal if our scouts report correctly, for that is where Daeron Stark is. Stark also holds Baelor prisoner. It looks like this war is far from over.”

* * *

 

**Cregan Stark**

Winter Is Coming, those were the words of their house, and it had come for the south with a vengeance. All the insults done to their family and to the whole of the north by House Targaryen over the years had been paid back, the south had bled. The banners had been called and when the bannermen of Winterfell had arrived at Winterfell, there had been a deep sense of anger and readiness bubbling beneath the surface of all the lords present. Harmond Umber spoke of getting revenge back for “Good Old Lord Willam”, Lord Brandon Karstark spoke of teaching the Targaryens a lesson. And throughout the whole time they were in Winterfell planning their battle plans Cregan watched as his elder brother Daeron sat and talked with each of the lords in turn and listened to their advice and their suggestions, and then provided his own suggestions, and Cregan could not help but feel proud of his big brother, the brother with whom he was closest. This war they were fighting was as much about getting justice for the north as it was about putting their brother Daemon on the Iron Throne.

Then had come the time for them to head south, and that was when there had been tearful farewells, their brother Theon only ten and five when they had marched south had been indignant that he was being left behind, had argued fiercely that he was old enough to fight in the war, but Daeron had quailed him with one look, one that reminded Cregan startlingly of their father, and Theon had shut up. Daeron had later confessed to Cregan as they had begun the march south that he had been considering bringing Theon south with them, but that doing so would likely have killed their mother. Cregan could not have agreed more, their mother was already a nervous wreck, what with Daemon already fighting in the south and Daeron and himself marching south also, taking Theon- her baby- with them would more than likely have made her panic beyond belief. All she had said to them both before they had left was that they should return in one piece. That was also what his lady wife Wylla had said to him, her belly heavy with child, their first child, and each time he got up in the morning he prayed to the old gods that he would live to see his child be born.

Before they had reached the Twins they had stopped at their Uncle Artos’s home of Moat Cailin where he and his sons- Cregan and Daeron’s cousins- Brandon and Benjen greeted them with some 1500 men. Whilst they stayed in Moat Cailin they discussed how to best take the Twins, some of the lords had been in favour of storming the castle and taking it by force, but uncle Artos had argued against that saying that it would be a wasteful tactic and that it would only do damage to their chances of success in the south.

 Instead he argued that they should lay siege to the Twins but give terms to Lord Frey, either he surrendered and gave them his men or himself and his whole family would be put to the sword. That was something that Cregan agreed with as did Lord Horras Bolton- the mad lord of the Dreadfort who could have married Jeyne- Daeron after much consideration also agreed with their uncle’s suggestions and so after their uncle Beron had joined them with some 1000 men from White Harbour they marched south, and their campaign in the south began.

Of course, Daeron could not let the campaign begin without some theatrics. Cregan’s elder brother had put two banners on top of a hill in front of the Twins, one with the Targaryen red dragon on black, and one with the black dragon of Daemon’s house on red and had ridden on his warhorse with a flaming torch and had set fire to the Targaryen banner. The message had been clear; the north was fighting to put Daemon on the Iron Throne, nothing more, nothing less. Their uncle Artos had been exasperated by Daeron’s display, though as Daeron was acting as Lord of Winterfell when he had done the deed, he could not be openly chastised otherwise that would have undermined his authority in the eyes of his bannermen, however, in private uncle Artos had severely reprimanded Daeron and had said that because of his antics it would be that much harder to get the Twins to peacefully co-operate.

It seemed their uncle had judged correctly. Lord Frey had stubbornly refused to surrender even with the northern host knocking on his doors, he had refused to let them pass and had refused to name his terms. Daeron, growing increasingly frustrated began to plan the sacking of the Twins; Cregan had been preparing himself for his first taste of war, when Lord Frey had ridden out of the Twins with an escort of some 200 men to demand what Daeron intended to do. Daeron had looked ready to strike the man in the face, and Cregan had felt like doing the same, luckily for Lord Frey their uncle Artos had a cooler head on his shoulders and whispered to Daeron the original terms they had decided in Moat Cailin. When Daeron presented these terms to Lord Frey, a strange expression came upon the Lord of the Crossing’s face. 

To Cregan it looked as if he was trying to decide whether or not Daeron was being serious or not, for the man kept looking at Daeron (whose hand was on Ice for the whole time) and then to the army camped around them. He did this many times before he eventually acquiesced and allowed them to cross, but with one condition Daeron’s son Aegor would have to marry one of his daughters when they came of age. In exchange for this, Lord Frey gave them an extra 2000 men and the campaign was off to a bloodless start.

The true fighting began in the land near and on Oldstones castle, the ruin of a old castle of the First Men, where the northern host was attacked by a Riverland army led by Lords Piper, Vance and Mallister. The battle raged long and hard, through the rain and sleet that came with summer, and the warmth of a southern summer startled Cregan and many of the other northmen who had never truly been south of the neck, not Daeron though, no Cregan saw his brother fight through the warmth with little concern cutting men down like he was some sort of vassal of the Old Gods, come to do their work. Daeron had always been an exceptional warrior, Cregan could remember growing up in Winterfell idolising him and their brother Daemon, it was often said that both men were of comparable talents with the sword. Cregan himself did not fare too badly during the battle, he held his own against men twice his age, fighting warriors more experienced than him.

He can still remember the first man he killed though. It was some Mallister boy, who came charging at him with a hammer held high above his head, shouting profanities, the boy had swung his hammer fast and hard, and Cregan had just about managed to bring his longsword up in time to block the hammer swing. They had fought a fierce duel, hammer and sword, until both were worn down from exhaustion and Cregan being the quick handed fighter that he was found an opening between the boy’s right shoulder and neck and feinted to the left drawing the boy forward, before he lunged forward and struck true burying his sword deep into the boy’s neck. It was not a clean kill, blood spurted from the wound that Cregan had made, and the boy took time dying, his eyes were as wide as saucers and he begged and screamed for relief. His cries still haunted Cregan sometimes at night.

The battle had ended in a northern victory though, with Daeron himself having killed Lord Mallister and his heir, as well as Lord Piper single handed, their uncle Artos killed Lord Vance, and their cousin Brandon killed Lord Vance’s heir. The minor riverlords who had marched alongside Lords Piper, Vance and Mallister were either put to the sword or surrendered and became part of Daeron’s army. Their next stop was Riverrun, where they had received reports that Baelor Breakspear and a royalist army under his command were camped.

The two forces met in a fierce battle at Whispering Wood. Baelor Breakspear and Lord Edwyn Tully and Lord Blackwood. There was much bloodshed that day and the days that followed Cregan remembered. He remembered that he kept swinging his sword and burying it in soldiers from the Riverlands and those from the Crownlands until well after the sun had set most days.  He remembered the screams and the cries of the dying as the bled out in the woods far from their homes and their loved ones, and each time he heard another man die, it made something within him revolt at the idea of ever lifting a sword ever again. Yet each time he looked to Daeron, his brother was still swinging Ice like a man possessed, and Cregan thought to himself that if his brother could do it and not look scathed then so to could he.

It was only after the battle, when the dead had been counted for and their bodies had been buried or given to the flames that Cregan fully saw what this war was doing to his brother. Daeron who was normally so sure of himself in public and never seemed as if anything was fazing him looked shocked at what he had seen and what he had done. His hands shook and his eyes looked scared, as if he was scared of what he was capable of and what he had become. Cregan knew that he was scared of what he himself had become, and he was not the Lord of Winterfell and so could therefore not fully comprehend what this must be like for Daeron.

Though when they were informed that Baelor Breakspear had been captured, it seemed as if the fighting and the nightmares of the aftermath were all worth it. Baelor Breakspear was a great warrior and was one of the best commanders the royalist army had, with him out of the field that gave Daemon the opportunity he needed to take King’s Landing once and for all. Cregan did admire Baelor Breakspear though, even when he was brought before Daeron in rags, beaten and bruised, he maintained his dignity and his honour. Even when he was told that he would be kept in a guarded cage he remained dignified, and once all the other bannermen were gone, and it was just Daeron, Cregan and their uncles and cousins, Daeron told Baelor that he did not wish for this, but it had to be done, for Daemon to be successful.

The next day they received word that the Lothstons had betrayed Daemon, and so the northern host had under Daeron’s instruction marched east to Harrenhal, where they had put the whole of the Lothston family under arrest within their own homes, Baelor Breakspear was put into a cell, and Daeron began disrupting the supply lines going to the other royalist army commanded by Prince Maekar and Lords Hayford and Arryn. A week after they took Harrenhal they received word of the outcome of what the smallfolk were calling the Battle of Redgrass Field. Daemon- their brother- had been killed, slain by arrows to the back by Brynden Rivers, the man had also killed Aegon, Daemon’s son. Aegor Bittersteel had fled with Daemon’s remaining children except for Aemon to the east. Of Aemon, Bittersteel had written that he was riding for the north with great haste.

That was how they found themselves in this situation now, 12,000 angry northmen gathered on the Isle of Faces. Angry about the way in which their king had been killed, and angry that it had been a follower of the Old Gods who had done the deed. That was why when Harmond Umber stepped forward and drew his longsword and laid it Daeron’s feet  and said “ The Black dragon is dead, our king is dead. His children no more than mere babes. Why not rule ourselves? What have the Targaryens ever done for us, except insult us? My lords there stands the only king I will ever bow to. The King of the North!”  

Cregan too got down on bended knee and said “I am your brother, now and always. Through thick and thin, through ice and fire. You are my king brother, the king of the north!”

The other lords of the north got down on bended knee and proclaimed Daeron the King of the North, the dragons be damned. The North had awoken, and it would be free, for the North Remembers. 


	8. The Grey and The Black

**Arianne Stark**

Winterfell was still in mourning. That much was abundantly clear. From the way the people within the castle and the way the smallfolk of the Winter Town carried themselves it was clear that Winterfell was in mourning over the death of one of their favourite sons. Daemon Blackfyre had been slain on a field far away from the north and from Winterfell, he had not set foot in Winterfell before his rebellion had begun, and yet the north still mourned his passing. From what her good sisters had told he, when Willam Stark had returned from the south all those years ago with a Targaryen princess for a bride, and had come with her bastard son, there had been those who had been sceptical of whether a dragon could adapt to the north and its ways. Her good mother had proved the sceptics wrong, and was seen with much respect and admiration. Daemon Blackfyre had spent the first twelve years of his life in Winterfell, growing up and learning the lessons needed to be a lord with Arianne’s own husband Daeron. The two of them had been as thick as thieves; she had seen how close the two of them had been when they had all been in King’s Landing. The people of Winterfell as well as her good sisters had spent the past year since her husband had been away at war recounting the tales of Daeron and Daemon as children, and the pranks they had played and each time they spoke of the two of them, it was with nothing but love and respect and pride that filled their voices.

Yes Winterfell was still in mourning, her good mother especially. Lady Daena Stark, was someone Arianne had grown up hearing tales about from her husband, Daeron idolised his mother and loved her deeply. Arianne had seen why when she had arrived at Winterfell, her good mother was so strong and so confident that it was no surprise to her that she had managed to survive all those years in the Maidenvault, and she knew then where Daeron had gotten his strength and confidence from.  News of Daemon’s death had shaken her good mother, Lady Daena was no longer as outgoing as she had been before the rebellion, in fact it seemed as if she had become more introverted and more of a husk of the woman she had been before her sons had marched for war. Arianne was worried about her good mother.

Her husband had returned two days after Winterfell had learnt of the death of one of their favourite sons. He comes home not as a lord of the north, but as its king, proclaimed on the Isle of Faces, the last place in the south with a weirwood tree, the place where the Children of the Forest once stood watch over their own children. He comes back home to her and their family a changed man. Yes he still smiles but his smiles are occasional now, his eyes are wearier than they were before the war, his actions and words are more guarded now than they were before. He is much more withdrawn than he was before. And it worries her that he may not be able to love in the same way as he was before the war.

It takes three weeks before she manages to pluck up the courage to ask her husband what happened to him during the war. She had meant to ask sooner and help him in any way she could, but with the lords of the north still in Winterfell, seemingly waiting for something, anything to happen, there had not been a moment where she had been free to express her heart to her husband, her king. But one day, once he is done with yet another round of meetings and discussions for the future of the north, he comes back to their shared rooms- they had always shared rooms before the war, with their son, their Aegor in a cot near the bed- he sits down and sighs heavily.

“I know I have not been the best husband or father as of late my love.” She hears Daeron say, pain and exhaustion mingling together. She goes to say something reassuring and yet Daeron raises one finger and silences her, he turns to face her and in his violet eyes she sees pain and sorrow. “Mother made a startling revelation today. It turns out she gave father the old crown of the Kings of Winter before he left for King’s Landing all those years ago. Mikken is making a crown for you as we speak; we are to be crowned tomorrow.”

She does not know what to say to that, and so she lets silence settle between them before Daeron speaks again. “Horras Bolton will be planning a rebellion at some point, I know he will, I can feel it. The man was supposed to marry my aunt Jeyne before she married uncle Quellon, did you know that? The mad fool would have had a claim to Winterfell. He has been following my ideas and suggestions like a cat in water since the war ended. I can feel something is about to happen in the north I just don’t know what.”

“Have someone keep an eye on him Daeron. Could you not do that you are king now?” Arianne asks.

Daeron sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. “I wish I could, but if I do that I will make Lord Horras suspicious, and that would further ignite the flames for a rebellion. No I will bide my time, I’ll have scouts ride around the lands surrounding the Dreadfort and feed reports back to me.”

Arianne knows that cannot be all that is troubling her husband, but she has learnt since their time together in King’s Landing that it is best to let Daeron speak first before asking anymore questions. And as such she is proved right. “Aemon Blackfyre, my nephew will be coming to Winterfell very soon. He managed to escape Bloodraven and Maekar, and fled the battle with Addam Osgrey and the Ambrose brothers as well as Ser Costayne. They are currently in Moat Cailin for the time being, but once we are crowned they shall be coming to stay with us at Winterfell. “He pauses for a moment, and Arianne can sense that the thing that has been bothering her husband since he came back from the south is about to be revealed she waits with baited breath. “ War will come to Westeros once more, for as long as Bittersteel and Bloodraven and Aemon live, war will engulf Westeros, and I will have to give the north’s support to each and every single Blackfyre rebellion, because I promised Daemon that I would.”

Arianne feels her throat constrict and feels her chest tighten at her husband’s words, but she remains silent.

Daeron goes on. “I should have marched straight to Redgrass, Harrenhal was a pointless endeavour. Lord Lothston is a coward and a turncloak; he was not worth spending time at Harrenhal. I should have marched from Riverrun straight to Daemon’s forces. Then we would not have to worry about more war, and then Daemon would be sitting where he should be, on the Iron Throne and Daeron Targaryen and his line would be rotting in the ground. I should have listened to Cregan, not to uncle Artos.”

 

The sadness and pain that Arianne heard in her husband’s voice made her heart ache for him, and she leaned over in bed to grasp his hands which were shaking. She gave them a tight squeeze before saying. “It was not your fault that Daemon died my love, you could not have known that Bloodraven would resort to treacherous tactics to kill him, or that the men sworn to Daemon would break once he was dead. It is not your fault my love.” She squeezes his hands once more and then pulls him down to sit next to her on their bed, she can feel his hands still shaking in hers, his head comes to rest on her shoulder, and she can feel the steady drops of tears falling onto her night shift.

She hears Daeron take a deep shuddering breath before he asks, “So why do I feel like I am responsible for the failure of my brother’s dream. Why do I feel like I have failed all of you?” More tears begin to fall from her husband’s eyes onto her night shift and Arianne takes one of her hands away from his to stroke his hair, and murmurs softly that he has not failed any of them, that he had done them all so proud. They fall asleep in each other’s arms for the first time since Daeron came back from the south that night.

Morning dawned bright and early the next day, and soon husband and wife parted for their respective duties before the coronation began. Daeron left for more discussions with his lords bannermen about this and that, Arianne had to go and see that there was enough food left stocked in the kitchens and that there was enough supply to see them through the remaining months of summer, after all the words of House Stark were Winter is Coming, and she could have sworn there was a slight chill in the air today of all days.

Once she had made sure everything was in order, she returned to her chambers and got ready for the coronation. Deciding to wear a simple dress of grey and white, with the direwolf brooch of her husband’s house keeping her scarf in place. A few moments after she had dismissed her handmaidens Daeron came and together they walked to the godswood where the coronation would be taking place. Strangely enough Arianne did not feel nervous, she knew that perhaps she should do, but all she felt was calm and collected, if this was what the gods wished for her and her family then this would be what would happen. She could feel Daeron’s had shaking in hers, and so she squeezed it tightly to reassure him, and then when they reached the clearing in the godswood next to the heart tree, still holding hands they walked towards the thrones that had been put up for this special occasion, the northern lords were gathered around them.

Once she and Daeron were seated, she heard Artos Stark begin to speak in that deep iron voice of his. “Today we are gathered here, to fulfil an ancient promise made by the Starks of Winterfell. Since the Age of Heroes there has always been a Stark in Winterfell, whether as kings or as lords, the Starks have always ruled the north from Winterfell, and so they shall until time ends. Today we come to crown Daeron Stark and his wife Arianne, as the first king and queen of the North since Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Dragon. The dragons of the Targaryens are all dead now though, and the Targaryens on the throne do not have the rightful claim to the Iron Throne. And so the north will not stand by such injustice, we are a free and independent people as of this day. I take this crown of winter and do so declare Daeron Stark rightful King of the North, King of winter, and Lord Protector of the realm and Defender of the Old Gods. Do you accept?”

Daeron’s hand still shook violently in hers but all he said was “Yes.” And so Artos Stark, laid the crown of winter on her husband’s head and then placed the newly forged crown on top of her head, and proclaimed her queen of winter. With that done the northern lords began to cheer and shout words as one in a thunderous voice, that made her shiver as if the old gods themselves were beginning to awaken from their slumber.

Much later, when Daeron held his first court meeting as King of the North, he asked for her to be present and so they sat side by side on thrones made of weirwood, Daeron on the ancient seat of the Starks, and Arianne on a newly made throne. Daeron’s first announcement was to make his uncle Artos hand of the King as well as confirm his position as Lord of Moat Cailin and name him Defender of the Neck. Next he named Lord Harmond Umber Warden of the Northern Marches. Beron Stark of the Wolf’s Den was named as Warden of the Narrow Sea and High Admiral of the recently completed northern fleet. Quellon Greyjoy who had come himself to Winterfell to witness his nephew’s coronation, was formally accepted into the northern kingdom and was named Warden of the Sunset Sea. And Lord Sunderland the lord of the Three Sisters, seeking sanctuary from the wrath of the Targaryens, was accepted into the northern kingdom, and so Daeron became king of the north and the iron islands, with an increased naval presence, Arianne could almost hear the northern lords licking their teeth with anticipation at the thought.

The next move Daeron made was to announce the formation of a personal guard for the King and the royal family. Nine men based on the number of blades on the crown of winter, who would forswear all their inheritances when they join, they could not marry, and would hold no lands or titles. Their headquarters would be in the rebuilt first keep of Winterfell, and they would wear grey armour and have grey cloaks fixed to their armour. Daeron named his youngest brother Theon as the first lord commander of the Northern Kingsguard, whom he dubbed the Winter’s Guard.

With that done, Daeron’s next move as king was to order the changing of the royal family’s sigil, for in his words though they were Direwolves, they were also dragons and needed to show the rest of Westeros as such. And so that was how on the day Aemon Blackfyre arrived in Winterfell with an escort of some twenty men, he came to find Winterfell showing not the traditional grey direwolf racing across a field of white, but of a grey dragon with its wings and teeth bared combatant with the grey direwolf on a field of ice white. The words of House Stark of Winterfell remained the same imposing words they had been for the past eight thousand years.

Two days after Aemon Blackfyre arrived; there came two letters from the south. One from Lord Frey at the Twins announcing regretfully that the betrothal between Daeron and her son Aegor and one of Frey’s daughters would have to be broken, due to royal command. Though it was an insult to break the betrothal, none of Daeron or Artos or even Arianne truly minded much, for that would leave Aegor with the option of marrying whomever he wished. The next letter came from King’s Landing, and it announced that Prince Maekar Targaryen and Lord Brynden Rivers would be coming north to Winterfell to discuss the ending of hostilities between Daeron the good and her Daeron, as well as discuss the release of Prince Baelor, who had been kept in a cell since Daeron had returned to Winterfell.

* * *

 

**Delena Blackfyre**

Her husband and her firstborn son were dead, slain by Brynden Rivers, Daeron the Good’s master of whispers. She still had a hard time processing this information.  From the reports they had received during the war, it had seemed almost inevitable that Daemon would win and would be sitting on the Iron Throne, but by some ill fortuned, by some sheer bad luck on her husband’s part, he had been slain by his half brother and her Aegon had died with his father. The news had come on dark wings, writ in Aegor Rivers hand, the raven had torn her world upside down in a mere matter of hours she had gone from thinking that perhaps she might actually get to see her twins and her husband again, to worrying desperately about the fate of her second born son Aemon, and the fate of her remaining children.

Whilst she and Daemon had not exactly loved each other- there had been no possibility of that, what with his love for Daenaerys and her love for Mathis Tyrell- they had become fond of each other over the years, and so she did mourn his passing. She was more sad about the death of her first born, Aegon, he had been the jewel in her eyes and Daemon’s, had Daemon been successful in his bid to take the Iron Throne, Aegon would have had the potential to be one of the best kings Westeros had ever seen, her boy was smart and caring, and liked learning and fighting. She supposed that was why Daemon had risen up in rebellion, after Aegor Rivers and Quentyn Ball had been whispering in his ear for so long, she did not know Baelor Breakspear all that well, but it seemed to her that perhaps Daemon was trying to get a better future for their children when he rebelled, and it seemed that the whisperings that his father had wanted him to be the king had if not gotten to him had converted him into trying to make his sons kings.

She knew that was why her father had risen in rebellion with Daemon. The chance that his grandson could be king was one that Lord Devan Strickland would not have passed up for the world. It would have given him unprecedented influence in Westeros let alone the Reach, and may have even presented the possibility of House Strickland being made Wardens of the South had Daemon been successful. But of course Daemon had not been successful, no her husband had been slain on Redgrass field, his life’s blood adding to the tens of thousands of other men’s blood that fed the hungry and parched fields where the two forces fought. And so her father had fled with his tail between his legs and had taken her and his remaining grandchildren across the narrow sea to Tyrosh where somehow Aegor had contacts.

 Aegor had always been someone who had intimidated Delena, he was an angry and aggressive man, who it seemed only, took pleasure in two things, those being fighting and arguing. She remembered the countless arguments that Daemon and Aegor had had before the rebellion had begun, these arguments had usually centred around King Daeron II Targaryen, and whether or not he truly had the right claim to the throne, and that Daemon’s father had actually named Daemon his true heir in his last will and testament. Such arguments often ended with Daemon saying that it was all well and good saying that his father had named him his true heir, but unless they actually had written proof with King Aegon IV’s signature and seal on it, no one would ever believe them, and besides Daemon would argue, he did not want to be king.

Now, with Daemon and Aegon dead Aegor had gone into a tower of fury, he seemed to no longer live for the living and seemed determined to put Aemon on the throne by any means necessary. Such was his anger and fury that he had driven Delena- who was usually quite a peaceful and quiet person- to anger on numerous occasions, what with his constant talk of war and the Iron Throne. She had snapped at him that enough blood had been shed for that chair, and that she did not want her children dying and suffering for something that at the end of the day they may not even want. Aegor had given her such a cold look then, and in a tone filled with venom had said that she was lucky that she was Daemon’s wife, otherwise he would have knocked her senseless for the words she had uttered. He had said, his voice rising in anger as he spoke, that so long as he still had breath in his body, he would try and try until he was successful to put one of Daemon’s sons or grandsons on the Iron Throne, for it was theirs by right of blood, and that Daeron II Targaryen was nothing more than a bastard who had taken what was not his to take.

After that, she had done all she could to keep her children away from his corrosive influence. She was lucky in the sense that her Daemon favoured books more than swords, and that earnt him the scorn of Aegor, for the man had never had time for learned men or words, in fact Delena was quite surprised that he could even read, let alone write properly. With Aemon in Winterfell under his uncle Daeron Stark’s protection, Delena had atleast some sort of hope that he would grow up to be a decent and honourable man, like his father and not his uncle Aegor. She did not however have as much luck with keeping Aegor’s corrosive influence away from Haegon or Daeron. Bittersteel seemed to dote on them, even though Daemon had remarked multiple times how much Haegon reminded him of Prince Maekar as a child, Aegor seemed not to care and seemed to treat Haegon and Daeron as his own two sons rather than nephews, and as such they seemed to spared most of his anger, something that whilst in some small part she was grateful for, made Delena slightly angry.

She could tell Aegor was planning something, some great move to help Aemon gain the Iron Throne, but what it was she could not tell, all she could feel was that the cold winds were rising and that before there could be peace there would be more and more bloodshed, many more Redgrass fields would occur, and the realm would bleed, for the dance of dragons would go on and on till there was only one dragon left standing.


	9. A Treaty Of Dragons And Wolves Part 1

**Maekar**

Sometimes he still heard the cries of the wounded and the dying. Their screams echoed in the chamber of his mind, and caused him to wake up sweating and panting. War was not the glorious thing that the songs and stories made it out to be. No war was like a nightmare Maekar had been plagued by as a child, but a thousand times worse. He’d seen his friends and allies, people he had grown up with, cut down before his very eyes. He’d killed men he had once considered friends and comrades in arms, simply because Daemon Blackfyre had been manipulated into trying to claim the throne that was not his to claim.  Westeros had bled because of Bittersteel and Fireball and the anger they felt towards Maekar’s father King Daeron the Good, and the supposed insults that he had done to them. Daemon would not have raised himself in rebellion had it not been for those two constantly whispering in his ear, Maekar knew that. Maekar also knew that what Bloodraven had done to end the battle of Redgrass field whilst necessary, had been completely cowardly and without honour. And if there was something that Maekar could not stand it was a man who fought without honour, and his uncle had done just that.

After Redgrass, there had been much to do. There had been wounded to tend to, there had been dead to bury or burn, and then of course Maekar had had to chase those rebels that were trying to flee across the narrow sea  but had not left with Bittersteel. That had led to several minor skirmishes within the Riverlands and even in the Stormlands, but they had all been quite bloody. Lord Lonmouth had led the Blackfyre troops in the Stormlands and had taken Lord Devan Strickland’s place in laying siege to Storm’s End when Daemon’s good father had marched north to join his good son at Redgrass. Strickland had fled with Bittersteel but Lonmouth kept fighting, it had taken Maekar three days and many minor fights before Lonmouth had been slain and his son had surrendered and the siege had been lifted. It still grated on him though that Bittersteel had managed to escape him. The man was responsible for bringing war and death to Westeros and as such needed to be brought to justice. Yet Maekar’s father had ordered him not to pursue Bittersteel, because the man was not the key threat to House Targaryen, Aemon Blackfyre- Daemon’s twelve year old son and heir- was, the boy had been Daemon’s squire and had fled north with an escort likely to go to his uncle Daeron Stark’s army. Maekar’s father had written quite clearly that Aemon Blackfyre was the main threat to stability in Westeros not Bittersteel, and so Bittersteel had been allowed to flee across the narrow sea to Tyrosh with Daemon’s wife and his remaining children.

Their spies in the north had reported that Aemon Blackfyre had arrived at Winterfell some days ago and was now learning the arts of being king under his uncle King Daeron Stark, King of the North and the Iron Islands. The very title made Maekar grind his teeth in anger. His oldest friend Daeron had crowned himself and was harbouring the threat to Maekar’s family, and would more than likely start yet more wars to see the boy put on the Iron Throne before he died. Maekar could understand the hurt and anger that his friend must be feeling, he knew the feeling well, but why would he allow himself to be crowned, Maekar could not understand. As far as he could remember Daeron had never hungered for crowns despite the insults that Maekar knew his mother had heaped on Daeron and the north.  Of course his friend had been hungry for glory, what young boy wasn’t? But he had never shown any ambitions to be more than Lord of Winterfell, nothing more. He supposed war did things to people, changed them in subtle ways. He knew he had changed in some ways, some of them good, some of them bad. Any man who said that he was unaffected by war was a liar, or a coward, afraid to face the realities of what they had seen, what they had done. He wondered what sort of man his friend had become.

More memories came back to Prince Maekar as they continued their journey northwards. His father had been hard but fair with those rebels they had captured after Redgrass. Some of them such as Lord Yronwood were pardoned but had some of their lands taken off of them and others such as Lord Shawney were executed for treason and crimes against the crown, and their eldest sons were taken as hostages in King’s Landing to ensure that the rest of the house remained loyal to the Iron Throne. Lord Devan Strickland who had fled across the narrow sea with Bittersteel and others like him who had fled with Bittersteel saw their lands confiscated by the crown and given to houses that had remained loyal to the crown during the rebellion. There were problems though with this. Other houses such as House Reyne, House Osgrey, House Sunderland, House Costayne, House Ambrose and House Peake all had members that were either in the north with Daeron Stark, or had members who were married into northern houses. And as the north had declared itself independent- something Maekar hoped to change- there was very little that Maekar’s father could actually do to bring those houses to justice.

Furthermore with Baelor a prisoner in Winterfell, there was a need for careful political manoeuvring to ensure his safe release and a settlement that would look favourably for both sides. That was why Maekar was riding north with Bloodraven, even though he did not personally like the man, he could appreciate the fact that his uncle was good at playing the game of politics and manoeuvring, the only thing was that Daeron Stark’s uncle was just as good, if not better at playing politics as Bloodraven was, which could make for an interesting meeting. Maekar silently said a prayer to the seven as Moat Cailin came into view that their journey north to Winterfell would be successful and that a peace- no matter how tenuous could be found-.  They were greeted at the gates of Moat Cailin- the imposing northern fortress that signalled the entrance to the north- by Artos Stark’s son Brandon Stark. Stark was a tall and thickly built man, with broad shoulders and a mop of dark brown hair and piercing grey eyes.

“Welcome Prince Maekar, Lord Brynden. I hope your ride north was comfortable as it could be.” Stark said in a voice of iron.

“Thank you, and yes it was fairly pleasant.” Bloodraven replied.

“Well then, let us not tarry. I know you must have ridden for a long time. Rest a while here, before venturing north to Winterfell.” Stark said, before turning his horse around and trotting back into the keep.

Before the rode in after Stark, Bloodraven rode up next to him and leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Let me do the talking when we reach Winterfell Maekar.”

Maekar merely grunted in response and then spurred his horse onward to Moat Cailin. They spent the night at Moat Cailin, refreshing them after a tiring ride north. Brandon Stark was a good host, he was fun and jovial, and had an ease with people that made Maekar slightly jealous, though he tried hard to shake the jealousy off. He spent that night during the feast looking around the hall, and he saw all the faces in the hall regarding himself and Bloodraven with a particular weariness, no they looked at him with a certain weariness, Bloodraven they looked at with thinly disguised hatred and loathing. It made sense Maekar thought, Daemon had been raised in Winterfell before he had come to King’s Landing and had won the hearts of the north, and that Bloodraven was his brother and had killed him as well as being a follower of the Old Gods would have seriously angered many in the north. Brandon Stark’s father was not at Moat Cailin, though Maekar had expected something of the sort, given that their spies had reported that Daeron had named him High Steward of the North, essentially naming him Hand of the King and making him the second most powerful man in the whole of the north. From the stories that Maekar had heard from his father and great uncle and grandfather of Lord Artos Stark, the man was a fierce warrior and man, with a quick temper and an even quicker wit. A formidable foe and certainly one who could challenge Bloodraven if it came down to it.

The next day, Maekar and Bloodraven rode for Winterfell, accompanied by Brandon Stark and Lord Bowen Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch. They rode in silence for most of the journey, though occasionally Maekar could here Lord Reed talking in hushed tones with Bloodraven, and occasionally speaking with Brandon Stark.  They stopped off at various inns along the way to Winterfell, and at each inn Maekar noticed that their party- mainly Bloodraven- drew sideways looks from the locals sitting and drinking, and often the conversations raging on in the inns would stop when either himself or Bloodraven entered the inn, but would resume when Brandon Stark walked in.

A week after leaving Moat Cailin they arrived at Winterfell, the castle was just as imposing as Maekar had heard it to be, the new sigil that Daeron Stark had had created- a grey dragon with its wings and teeth bared combatant with a grey direwolf on a field of ice white- flapping high on the ramparts. Waiting for them in the courtyard was the whole of Winterfell it seemed, Daeron Stark stood tall and proud the ancient crown of winter atop his head, his wife and their son, a thick and burly man with a mop of greying brown hair and thick broad shoulders stood next to Daeron’s wife, the man Maekar took to be Artos Stark and his sisters stood next to him. Standing to Daeron’s left was a man wearing a grey wolf’s helm, grey armour and a grey cloak. So this was Theon Stark, the Lord Commander of Daeron’s Winter’s Guard.  Maekar rode into the courtyard and waited for Bloodraven and Brandon Stark and Lord Reed to arrive before dismounting.

Maekar could feel the tension in the air as he walked towards his old friend, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Theon Stark had his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it should anything go awry. Maekar stopped in front of his friend, and gave him a long and appraising look, noting the lines on his friend’s face and then he broke out into a tired smile and clasped his friend by the hand and shook it firmly. “Daeron it has been too long.”

He heard his friend give a wry laugh and heard his reply. “Aye it has Maekar, it has. Come let me introduce you to my family.” And he walked down the line and introduced Maekar to his wife Arianne, the babe she held in her arms who had her thick black hair but his friend’s deep violet eyes, his uncle Artos, his sisters Barbery who looked so like Maekar’s sister Aelinor it took his breath away, and his sister Bethany.

There was only one person missing from the people Maekar had just been introduced to, “Where is the Lady Daena Daeron?”

Maekar regretted asking that question the moment it left his mouth, and yet he could not recall the words and it pained him to see the deep sorrow that appeared on his friend’s face as he spoke. “My mother has not been well as of late. She was too ill to attend today; I hope that does not offend?”

Maekar shook his head, no it did not. At a nod from Daeron the rest of the castle dispersed and went back to doing their normal duties, Daeron asked for Maekar and Bloodraven to follow him into the castle. They walked in silence for a long time before they came to a stop in front of two doors, both of which were closed. Daeron turned round and looked at them both, his eyes glinting something fierce when he looked at Bloodraven, but his voice was even and measured when he spoke. “I believe you will be quite tired after your journey here. These two rooms are the rooms where you shall be staying for the duration of your stay. Rest now, tonight there will be a feast, and then tomorrow we shall discuss why you are here.” With that Maekar watched his friend walk away from them, his brother a silent shadow behind him.

The afternoon and the evening passed by in a blur. The afternoon was taken up by Maekar and Bloodraven discussing what the best way would be to approach dealing with Daeron, for his friend had seemed so tired and worn down, that perhaps he would be more willing to accept being subject to rule of the Iron Throne if offered the right terms. They also talked about how they had not seen Aemon Blackfyre out in the courtyard, and debated where he could possibly be.  The evening was taken up by the feast, Maekar had never truly enjoyed feasts, considering them frivolous and unnecessary, but it seemed that the northerners were up to prove a point by holding the feast. Daeron seemed preoccupied during the feast, seemingly deep in thought, though Maekar could hazard a guess at what he was thinking.

The next day came the day Maekar had been dreading ever since Daemon had fallen at Redgrass. The day in which they would have to try with all their might to get Daeron Stark to accept being subjected back to rule of the Iron Throne. They met in the great hall, with what seemed the whole of the northern court in attendance. Daeron sat on the ancient weirwood throne of the Starks, his wife sat next to him on a similar throne. Guarding the foot of the steps were the men and woman of the Winter’s Guard : Lord Commander Theon Stark, Rickard Karstark (Lord Artos’s nephew), Willam Stark (Lord Beron Stark’s youngest son), Dorren Umber, Beric Dustin, Jeyne Mormont, Derrick Flint, Edrick Strongaxe (a wildling who had grown up in Winterfell) and Devon Marriagestone (a man from the Crofter’s village who had fought during the Blackfyre Rebellion who had managed to kill Ser Willem Wylde during the battle of the Whispering Wood).   All nine of the Winter’s Guard looked imposing and fierce, battle hardened warriors all of them except for the Lord Commander, though if their spies were to believed, many in the north considered Theon Stark to be as good a swordsman as his brother and king.

Artos Stark spoke first. “You have come with terms have you not Prince Maekar, Lord Brynden? We would hear them.”

Bloodraven stepped forward and spoke in a clear voice. “We have come here under the instruction of King Daeron Targaryen, second of his name. True king of Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms. We have come to broker a peace with the north, and have the release of His Grace Prince Baelor Targaryen.”

There was much muttering amongst the court once Bloodraven had finished speaking, though Daeron did not speak for the longest time. He eventually raised his hand and the chatter immediately stopped. The silence in the room was more deafening then the chatter had been, all were waiting for Daeron to say something. They waited and waited, then just as everyone was thinking that Daeron would not actually say anything he spoke in soft voice, so that they all had to strain to hear what he was saying. “You have come to broker peace have you Lord Brynden? You come to the north, to my home, and say as easy as you like that you wish to broker a peace. What is in this peace for my family, for my people?”

Maekar could feel something inside him beginning to tense; this was not going as expected. But Bloodraven seemed unperturbed by it and spoke confidently. “Why peace Lord Stark. Surely you do not wish to continue waging war and making Westeros bleed, for a line of pretenders and upstarts?”

Maekar nearly cringed internally at the way Bloodraven had spoken, when he looked up at the seat where Daeron sat, his friend gave no outward indication that he was angered by Bloodraven’s callous words, but when he spoke, there was a hint of laughter in his voice “Peace? Oh come now Lord Brynden surely you can do better than that? I know you have not come here to talk peace with me. No, Daeron the Good is not one to send two emissaries all the way to the frozen, savage north simply to talk peace. No you want concessions, speak them now or be gone.”

There was silence for a moment, then Bloodraven spoke again, a smile on his lips like this was some sort of game. “Very well. You wish to hear the terms, and then you shall. In exchange for peace, his Grace Daeron the Good requires that you come to King’s Landing to swear fealty to him, and promise to not raise arms against the Iron Throne ever again. Furthermore, his grace, also wishes for you to hand over the pretender Aemon Blackfyre to be tried by the King’s Justice. If you do this then the north shall be pardoned, and Westeros can rebuild and move on.”

Daeron was silent once more; though the chatter picked up in the court once again, out the corner of his eye Maekar saw a man with a flayed man on his surcoat begin to move on his feet. He turned his attention back to the throne where his friend sat. Daeron’s face looked like it had been carved from stone, his voice sounded like raging thunder when he spoke. “Those are the terms my cousin has sent you here to get me to submit to? Ha, Daeron the Good truly has lost his marbles if he thinks I will submit to that. No, these are the terms: The North and the Iron Islands is one free and independent kingdom, we shall no longer be ruled from King’s Landing. Furthermore if my cousin wishes for peace, he will have to promise to pardon Houses Reyne, Costayne, Ambrose, Peake and Osgrey and allow those members of the houses that came with my nephew Aemon back to their homes, and ensure that their houses do not face repercussions for fighting for my brother his grace King Daemon. If Daeron the Good is willing to accept these terms then, he can have his peace and his son back.”

Before Bloodraven could say something that worsen their situation, Maekar stepped forward and spoke. “If Your Grace would be so kind as to give us the chance to discuss these terms and speak with you once we have decided what to do we would be most grateful.”

Maekar was relieved to see Daeron’s eyes soften a little as he granted Maekar’s request, and called an end to the council session. Once they were back in the safety of their rooms Maekar and Bloodraven argued deep into the night about what to do. Eventually they reached a decision and the next day asked for a chance to speak with Baelor, which Daeron agreed to. And so it was that Maekar and Bloodraven found them standing in front of Baelor’s cell one night talking with the crown prince and heir to Westeros.

“So what terms did Daeron offer you for peace then?” Baelor asked his voice sounding hoarse.

“Recognition of the independence of the kingdom of the North and Iron Islands, and the pardoning of Houses Reyne, Ambrose, Costayne, Peake and Osgrey.” Maekar said.

Baelor laughed. “That stinks of Artos Stark, that man is too clever by half. No we cannot accept those terms, it would lead to much rebellion within the rest of the kingdoms, Damon Lannister is already angry with father over the fact that he kept his sons hostage during the rebellion. No Daeron is more reasonable; tell him we shall accept the pardons of the houses he mentioned, nothing more, nothing less. Let him make of that what he will.”

“Are you sure that is a wise idea brother, Daeron seemed quite set on getting us to formerly recognise northern independence.” Maekar asked.

“Yes, but he has to seem sure otherwise his bannermen will desert him. No get those terms to him on his own and we will have peace.” Baelor replied.

The next day Maekar met with Daeron alone in his solar, with only Theon Stark and Jeyne Mormont of the Winter’s Guard present in the room.  Daeron sounded tired when he spoke. “So you have decided then have you Maekar?”

Maekar hesitated and then went on. “Yes Daeron we have. We will accept the pardoning of House Reyne, House Ambrose, House Costayne, House Peake and House Osgrey in return for peace.” He did not mention Aemon Blackfyre, nor did he mention Northern independence and neither did Daeron.

“Very well then. That is that then.” Daeron said. “Now let us catch up Maekar, it has been too long old friend.”

And so Maekar and Daeron Stark spoke for some time about the past, reminiscing about times spent in King’s Landing, and they spoke of Maekar’s children and their hopes and worries, and for a moment it felt like the war had never happened, like there was no further possibility of war occurring ever again.

Once they were done talking Maekar left his friend to his thoughts and walked back to his room, as he neared his room though he found Bloodraven speaking to the man he had seen in court a few days ago with the flayed man on his surcoat. The man had pale grey eyes and a pale face, with a whisp of black hair on his head. Bloodraven introduced the man as Lord Horras Bolton.

The man spoke softly though his meaning was clear. “Your Grace, my lord,” Horras Bolton said. “Should there ever come a time when House Targaryen becomes fed up with the Starks, know that House Bolton will always be loyal to you and will stand by you no matter what you do.” With that he walked away, leaving Maekar with a strange feeling in his gut.

Three days later Maekar, Bloodraven and Baelor set out for King’s Landing riding not with their full mission accomplished but with something at least done and some sort of peace achieved. Though the words Horras Bolton had uttered to him and Bloodraven kept echoing in his head, and he had a strange feeling that trouble would come to the north very soon.

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**Aemon Blackfyre**

The north was much different to the south that much Aemon Blackfyre knew. The weather was colder, the people harder and much tougher. That was not to say that the people were not kind, oh no, they were extremely kind towards him. There was always someone on hand to help him with his work, or to point him in the right direction when he was lost or needed to get something. Whether that was because the people of the north were generally being kind toward him, or if it was because he was Daemon Blackfyre’s son, or because he was Daeron Stark’s nephew he did not know, nor did he truly care. With his mother and other siblings away across the narrow sea in Tyrosh, so long as he knew there were people there to look out for him he was happy.

He still had difficulty truly believing that his father and his brother- his twin- were dead. There were still times at night where he woke up sweating and panting because he had had a nightmare where he had relived seeing his brother being killed by an arrow through the throat, and then he remembered seeing his father being struck by the arrows that would eventually bring him down to death’s cold embrace. When he had been told that Maekar Targaryen and Brynden Rivers were coming to Winterfell to discuss peace terms with his uncle Daeron, he had been furious. Why should those two men who had been responsible for his father’s death, for his family fleeing into exile come to the north and come and demand that his uncle submit himself and his family to the rule of the mad man on the throne. The man who had let the Dornish snakes corrupt his court.

He had voiced these thoughts once at a meal before the Targaryen envoys had come to Winterfell, and after an awkward silence his uncle had simply told him that he would not be allowed to be in Winterfell whilst they were here. Instead he would be staying with his other uncle Cregan Stark, at his uncle’s holdfast a day’s ride away from Winterfell. And so he rode there and stayed and brooded and thought about ways in which he could avenge his father and his brother, and make it so that his family could come back to Westeros and live in King’s Landing the city that was rightfully theirs, in fact the whole continent was rightfully theirs, from the Wall down to Dorne. It was whilst he was in his uncle Cregan’s holdfast waiting for the Targaryen envoys to go that he swore a vow in front of the godswood on his father and brother’s memory that he would avenge them and ensure that House Blackfyre won the Iron Throne, even if he died in the effort. He swore that he would avenge them and get justice for them.

Also whilst he waited for the Targaryens to go back south, Aemon spent sometime with his grandmother, Daena Targaryen had been a source of legend when Aemon had been growing up with his brothers and sisters in the south. It was clear that from the stories that his father told, that Daena Targaryen- now Stark- was someone that Aemon’s father Daemon truly loved and deeply respected, another such person was Willam Stark. Aemon’s father had told his children countless stories of their grandmother’s bravery and courage and strength, and how she had fought to get what she wanted, and had married the man she had loved.  The Daena Stark that Aemon met after the rebellion had been crushed was not the same woman that Aemon had grown up hearing about in the stories his father had told him. She seemed to be a pale husk of the woman she had been, the fire seemed to have gone out of her eyes and she seemed to be wandering around like a ghost in human form. Aemon had mentioned this to his uncle Cregan, and his uncle had merely said that Aemon’s grandmother had experienced a great deal of pain and loss in the last few years and that it was time for her to rest.  Aemon had not truly understood what his uncle had meant by that, though he had thought it had made sense.

Once the Targaryen envoys had gone back south, Aemon had been allowed to return to Winterfell. His training under his uncle Daeron on how to be a fair and just king, his lessons with Maester Reyne and his sword practice with master of arms Steffon Cassel resumed, but with a much more frenetic and specific pace. It was almost as if his uncle Daeron was preparing him for an upcoming battle or war. Though Aemon was not sure when or where this war would be, but he promised himself that for his father, for his brother, for his uncle and for his family he would be ready for it when it came.

Furthermore, as he grew older and wiser, Aemon found he was growing fonder of his uncle Daeron’s younger sister Barbery. Barbery had her mother’s Targaryen features, and was exceptionally beautiful. Aemon found himself enamoured with her, and did all he could to try and impress her and be the best man he could for her. He knew that she had been born roughly round the same time as himself and Aegon, and that his uncle Daeron would likely start looking for some lord or some lord’s son for his sister to wed, and Aemon was determined to prove himself worthy of her hand. And so he spent days and weeks courting her, listening to her talk about what she wished for herself in life, and what she liked to do and what she didn’t like to do. He told her a little about what he himself wished to do, though he kept the more intimate details of his dreams to herself- girls did not like talk of war or conquest- and slowly but surely he began to think that she liked him almost as  much as he liked her. And so when he asked her for her hand and she accepted he was over the moon, and then when he asked his uncle for permission to marry Barbery and King Daeron accepted, Aemon was the happiest he had been for a long time.

They were wed in the godswood in Winterfell in front of the Heart Tree with the whole of the north in attendance; anyone of importance was present at their wedding. And Aemon thought that he had never seen his grandmother look happier during his time at Winterfell then she had during that day. Though there seemed to be something that was bothering his uncle Daeron, for his uncle seemed preoccupied and Aemon saw him constantly talking to Lord Artos Stark and Lord Beron Stark as well as Aemon’s other Uncle Cregan Stark. All three men had similarly grim and concerned looks on their faces, which Aemon knew could not be to do with the wedding, but as it was his wedding he did not bother himself with it overtly much and spent the rest of the night and most of the next morning fully enjoying the company of his wife.

A year later, Aemon’s grandmother Lady Daena Stark- she who was known as Daena the Defiant- died in her sleep, and was cremated as per the Targaryen tradition, and her ashes were laid to rest in a crypt that King Daeron Stark had had made built for his mother, next to his father lord Willam Stark.

A somber atmosphere engulfed Winterfell for much of the next month after Aemon’s grandmother was cremated, only to be broken when Barbery told him one fine summer’s day that she was with child. There was a celebration feast held and Aemon and Barbery were the focus of the feast, and even Aemon’s uncle who had seemed distant and preoccupied since the death of his mother seemed to be happy with the news, and seemed much more engaged with events then he had been at Aemon’s wedding. Things between King Daeron and his wife Arianne seemed much improved as well, they were talking and holding hands and doing all the things that Aemon had not seen them do since his wedding.

The joyous atmosphere in Winterfell lasted for a week before Aemon was summoned to his uncle’s solar one cloudy day, and found himself in a room with his uncle Daeron, his uncle Cregan, his uncle Lord Commander Theon Stark and Lords Artos and Beron Stark. The expression on his uncle Daeron’s face was grim and resigned. “Lord Horras Bolton has called his banners and has declared rebellion in the north. Lord Gorne Magnar has also called for rebellion in Skagos.” Aemon was shocked, though from the expression on his uncles’ faces it seemed that they were not.

King Daeron Stark went on. “You shall be coming with myself and Theon when we march on the Dreadfort to deal with Lord Horras. Uncle Artos and Uncle Beron will take some of the northern army and sail for Skagos. We shall end these rebellions before they can begin.”

Aemon briefly felt like the wind had been knocked out of him before he remembered something his younger brother Daemon had said long ago, before the rebellion. “ _The Flayed man and the grey dragon shall war, and you shall be the one to end it.”_

It was time to prove he was the king Westeros deserved. 


	10. Desire In A Chalice's Cup

**Bloodraven**

Summer was slowly losing its battle with autumn. The days were getting shorter, the nights longer and colder, soon winter would be upon Westeros and whether or not they would be able to battle through it was something Brynden Rivers was not sure he truly wished to think about. There was much still to do in the capital, the Blackfyre Rebellion had placed a heavy strain on food supplies, the Reach was still recovering from the many fights and pillages that Daemon’s men had done to its lands and crops. The Westerlands were also recovering, Damon Lannister was slowly coming out of his coma, and was slowly, very slowly trying to rebuild his land and reconnect with his sons. Sons whom had been kept in King’s Landing to ensure his loyalty during the rebellion. Harvests were being brought in ready for the oncoming autumn, but Brynden was not sure these harvests would produce enough food to feed the growing population. Four years on from the failed Blackfyre rebellion and the lands still had not recovered, the once fertile Riverlands were now struggling to maintain their output of food and agriculture, and the whisperings of discontent were beginning to show.

The rebellion had brought up much inner turmoil and strife within Westeros, some of which had been buried from the time of the conquest; some from the Young Dragon’s raiding of Dorne. Those nobles of the more martial variety who had sided with Daemon Blackfyre, had either been killed during the rebellion, or had fled across the narrow sea with Bittersteel to Tyrosh. Avoiding persecution, but leaving the seeds of their discontent and treachery in the arms of their families. These families had been pardoned by Brynden’s brother Daeron, for that was how peace would be guaranteed with the north, at least for the time being. For so long as Daeron Stark sat on the throne of winter, there would be an uneasy peace in Westeros.  Old hurts had been brought to the surface when Brynden and Maekar had gone north to Winterfell to make peace and bring the north back into the realm. Officially the north was still recognised by the small council as part of Westeros and the seven kingdoms, unofficially all knew that the north and the iron islands were one separate kingdom, and a permanent threat to peace and stability, unless something could be done to the Starks.

That was where Horras Bolton came in. Bolton had offered his services to the Targaryens to assist in any attempted removal of House Stark from power in the north. Brynden knew that House Bolton as well as being one of the Starks most powerful vassals, were also traditionally their most fiercest rivals, and so it was that Brynden had corresponded with Lord Horras for perhaps three moons after he had returned to King’s Landing, ironing out the details of what would happen in the rebellion. Once it was decided that should the rebellion be successful, House Bolton would become Wardens of the North and one of Lord Bolton’s sons would become Lord of Winterfell. At the same time there would also be a rebellion in Skagos, led by one Gorne Magnar, the head of the ruling house in Skagos, who would be given lands beyond the wall as part of his extended territory. Brynden had then tasked Lord Horras with the job of stirring up the minor house within the north, to get their leaders discontented with Daeron Stark and his kingship. Whilst this was being planned, Brynden brought the idea before the small council as well as his brother. Most of the small council members had been in favour of this idea, Baelor- who after Lord Hayford’s death had been named Hand of the King- strictly opposed the idea, and argued that there were other ways in which they could get Daeron to see sense, but once again just as with the Blackfyre rebellion, Baelor was outvoted and shot down by his own father.

And so the plans were made, the next four years Brynden used his sources in the north as well as the promise of more gains for Lord Bolton, to spread discontent amongst the masterly houses of the north with their overlords and of course the Starks of Winterfell. In large parts his methods were successful, and when Lord Bolton wrote that Garen Tallhart, Devan Condon and Berrick Ryswell had all promised to support Lord Horras and bring with them their bannermen, the gears were set in motion for the rebellion to begin. The first sign that perhaps the rebellion would actually end well and give the Iron Throne its desired outcome, came on raven’s wings, write in the slanting hand of Horras Bolton, describing the capturing of the port town Stony Shore, and the slaying of Derrick Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte in the battle that led to the fall of the Shore. With the Ironborn chasing a false lead about Qarth being ripe for the taking, that Brynden had had his men in Quellon Greyjoy’s court plant in the old man’s ears, there was no chance of the Ironborn coming to aid the Starks. All Brynden needed to was sit back and relax and watch the north eat itself from the inside out.

There was still pressing issues to deal with in the capital after all. The small council, united on what to do with Daeron Stark, was divided over what was to be done with those nobles who had sided with Daemon Blackfyre during the rebellion. Those such as Robb Reyne had been pardoned albeit reluctantly and allowed to keep their lands and holdings, others such Lord Manfred Lothston, had sided with Daemon Blackfyre at the outset of the rebellion, and yet on the eve of Redgrass had switched back to fighting for the Targaryens. Some of the small council such as the master of ships, Lord Velaryon urged for Lothston to be executed and his lands confiscated and given to a more loyal house, a position which Maekar had favoured loudly. Others such as the new master of coin, Ser Stafford Tyrell (the uncle of the young Lord Tyrell) argued that it would be better to give the Lothstons a full pardon and keep a close eye on them, rather than penalise them completely. Eventually after much debate and argument, Daeron decided that the Lothstons would be pardoned but some of their lands would be taken from them and given to the Blackwoods, who had fought loyally for the Iron Throne.  

The Brackens were a harder house to decide what to do with. Given that his own mother had been a Blackwood, and that the mother of Bittersteel had been Bracken, many on the small council and indeed within court had been curious to see what sort of line he would push for. Lord Joffrey Bracken had been sent to Myr by Daemon to bring crossbowmen to Redgrass, but had been unable to deliver due to storms delaying his progress. His sons had fought for Daemon though, three of the four that he had with his wife, all three had been slain on Redgrass, and the fourth was no older than a babe. Baelor argued for Bracken to be pardoned but to have much of his lands taken off of him, leaving the house in a reduced state of power. And so it was that the land from Crossbow Ridge to Honeytree would be taken from them and given to House Blackwood.

With Bittersteel across the narrow sea in Tyrosh with Daemon’s other children, Brynden spent most of his time and effort focussed on what Aemon Blackfyre was doing in the north. According to his spies, the boy had become quite the warrior, good with all weapons just like his father and his uncle. Furthermore he did not seem to have inherited any of the madness that sometimes plagued the Targaryen family. When news had reached the court of Blackfyre’s marriage to Daeron Stark’s sister Barbery and that the girl was with child, there had been an audible sense of tension and worry within King’s Landing. War would come to Westeros once more, especially now that the Stark girl was with child. Daeron would want his nephew to become king to increase Stark influence and power in the south as well as to get revenge for all the insults done to his family over the years. Bittersteel would more than likely have heard about the pregnancy by now as well and would more than likely be preparing for an invasion, sometime soon.  That was why Brynden had written to Lord Bolton the day he had received word of the pregnancy, ordering the man to call his banners and begin the rebellion, and to send someone to deal with Barbery Stark, and Aemon Blackfyre if possible.

Daeron Stark though continued to be a point of contention within the royal family itself. Stark had spent a good bit of time in King’s Landing, growing up with Brynden, Bittersteel, Shiera, and Daenaerys as well as Daeron’s children, and as such had developed relationships with some of them. Brynden knew that Maekar was especially conflicted about the ongoing tensions with Stark; he knew that Maekar deeply respected and admired Stark, and that the two of them had been close when Stark had been in King’s Landing and had kept in contact after he had left. He knew that Aelinor also felt some form of remorse for Daemon’s death and the ongoing conflict with Stark, he knew that Aelinor had been close with Stark, the two of them had become like brother and sister in the time Stark had been in the capital, and Aelinor had attended along with Maekar, Stark’s wedding to Arianne Yronwood. Aerys as such had no real remorse or feelings about the conflict with Stark, though he had said that Stark and his line would be important in the years to come, though what he meant by that Brynden knew not.

There were also other matters other than the northern headache that Brynden had to focus on. His spies within the city and in other places in Westeros had reported to him that the smallfolk seemed to have a very different interpretation of the Blackfyres and Starks then most of the southern nobility did. His spies reported that the smallfolk were viewing Daemon Blackfyre as some sort of martyr, a man who had died fighting for what was his and what was right, a man who had fought a war for the woman he loved and to right the wrongs that Daeron had done by allowing the Dornish ‘snakes’ so much influence. His spies told him of how in the potshops of the capital and elsewhere in the kingdom, singers sang songs of how Daeron Stark was the king of winter, a vassal of the old gods come down to bring justice to the Targaryens who had scorned his family and his home, who had betrayed the gods, old and new, and that he would not rest until his nephew Aemon Blackfyre sat on the Iron Throne and order was restored to the world. His spies also spoke to him in hushed tones, of the rumours that started the rebellion, of how King Daeron and his line were all usurpers, that Aemon Blackfyre was the rightful king, born of the warrior and the maiden, sent to rid the world of abominations and sin. These rumours and songs did not leave the potshops where they were spoke and sung, Brynden made sure of that, the singers were sent to the deepest pits of hell, the rumour mongerers had their tongues, their eyes cut off. The Targaryen dynasty would be secure; Brynden would make sure of it. He would not allow some rumour to destroy all that he had worked for.

As he finished his cup of wine Brynden Rivers looked at the un-open letter that he had placed on his table sometime ago. The fire was dying out in the hearth as he put his cup down and moved to open the letter, which bore the flayed man seal of House Bolton. He quickly glanced through the letter and then smiled – a rare thing these days- he had some good news to share with Daeron and the small council. The Starks were about to face their toughest challenge yet.

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**The Mad Bolton**

The banners were gathered, the armies had been assembled and war had been declared in the north. Lord Horras Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort was the man leading the charge. He sensed an opportunity for further honours for his family, with the Targaryens and the Starks at odds over the Blackfyre issue, Bolton had offered his services to King Daeron II Targaryen, and had begun planning and plotting with permission from the King of course, to undermine and eventually end Daeron Stark, and the Starks in general, and their hold of the north. He was determined to right the wrongs that his family had suffered; he was determined to do what none of his ancestors had been able to do. He would make House Stark die out, and he would take Winterfell and the north. But he would not submit to Targaryen or southern control, oh no, the north was tasting freedom and would not submit as easily to a Lord who wished to bend the knee to the Iron Throne, especially when the Iron Throne did not have dragons to guard it. No he would crown himself King of Winter, taking House Bolton’s rightful place as kings of the north, once the Targaryens were occupied with another Black Dragon.

Much planning had done into the rebellion, much co-ordination with Bloodraven and Lord Gorne Magnar had happened. Their rebellions had been planned to occur at the same time to divide the Stark forces, and the trap had worked perfectly. Artos and Beron Stark were sailing for Skagos now, but would more than likely be delayed due to the sellsails that Bloodraven had hired from Bravos to keep the Stark army under Artos Stark busy. Reports from that side, painted a rather favourable picture. Stark he had marched from Winterfell with some 10,000 men to fight Horras himself, though with the summer days dying and autumn and its rains becoming more and more frequent, Stark’s army had not yet reached the Shepshead Hill. Horras knew that Stark was an impatient man at times, and when it came to fighting he would be itching to get into the thick of the action. During the Blackfyre rebellion it had usually fallen to Stark’s uncles Artos or Beron to keep him in check. But they were both gone, and whether or not the man’s brothers Cregan and Theon would be able to do the same job, was still to be seen.

For four years Horras had planned and plotted the rebellion. He knew that none of the great houses of the north would rebel alongside him, they were too fiercely loyal to the Starks, but the masterly and secondary bannermen to these great houses were often very, very ambitious, and were often likely to take up any chance at furthering their own gains. He also knew that many of the secondary houses were nervous or upset by Daeron Stark’s decision to support the Blackfyres during the rebellion, there were those who thought it odd that the oh so honourable Starks would wage war to put a bastard on the throne, who would risk the safety of the north and its people for a man who looked nothing like the north, but was the product of those who had subdued and insulted the north throughout their time as rulers of Westeros. It had not taken too much persuading to get the northern masterly houses to call their men to arms. House Forrester, House Condon, House Tallhart, House Slate, House Stout, House Long, House Lake, House Flint of Flint’s Finger and House Ryswell had all sworn themselves to him and his cause, and their plans had been drawn.

House Forrester, House Slate and House Long had all called their banners and had fought a battle at the Stony Shore with the forces of House Glover and their supporters. A fierce battle had ensued with Matthew Forrester- a fierce warrior who had fought alongside Willam Stark in Dorne and against Raymun Redbeard- leading the rebel forces. Forrester had been the one to slay Lord Glover; his head was sent back to his widow and his brother with a clear message, surrender or suffer the same fate. Ethan Glover, Derrick’s brother had refused to surrender and so Deepwood Motte was under siege. Many small skirmishes had occurred since that battle at Stony Shore between the Forrester forces and the other Glover forces, many had died, and yet Ethan Glover held out. For how long though, Horras did not know, from what Matthew Forrester wrote, Glover’s food supplies were running low, their hopes of getting food cut off, what with the Mormonts unable to send aid, and the Ironborn away in Qarth raiding due to false reports sent by Bloodraven and his spies.

Devan Condon and Garen Tallhart had led their men north and east to Castle Cerwyn- half a day’s ride from Winterfell- and had fought a battle within the sight of the castle with Donnel Cerwyn’s forces, easily defeating them and killing Donnel Cerwyn, his son and his brother. Cerwyn Castle was now under their control, but there was one small problem, Donnel Cerwyn’s wife and young daughter had managed to flee north to Winterfell due to help from one of their men at arms. And as a result, Daeron Stark had dispatched some 500 men under the leadership of Steffon Cassel south toe Castle Cerwyn, and the young man had managed to kill both Devan Condon and Garen Tallhart and their heirs and had forced their forces to submit and had as a result freed Castle Cerwyn, and had then proceeded to march west to deal with the siege of Deepwood Motte.

Horras knew that Berrick Ryswell was marching north with his men and the men of House Stout to assist Matthew Forrester, Horras could only hope that they would be successful. Daeron Stark was marching- he was perhaps a day’s ride away from the Dreadfort now- marching with some of the strength of Winterfell, Last Hearth, Hornwood, and Karhold behind him. Horras only had his own men and that of House Lake and House Flint of Widow’s Watch with at the Dreadfort. A fierce battle or battles would be fought within the next few days he could feel it. It was just a case of waiting and watching.

Horras waited for five days, before with the rain slowing down and beginning to die the first sighting of the grey dragon and direwolf banner of House Stark of Winterfell was sighted. His hands shook with nerves, as he put his armour on and he mounted his horse. The Weeping Water was close to full, the rain and the dark sky seemed like a sign from the old gods of things to come. He looked around the field where he and his men and those of House Lake and House Flint of Widow’s Watch were, and saw their banners floating by in the air, he saw his son and heir Jonor mounted his axe in hand, he saw his son Domeric mounted sword in hand, and he felt reassured. He drew his sword from his sheath and raised it high into the air, just as the Stark king blew his war horn. The fighting had begun.


	11. 11th Hour

**Gorne Magnar**

The waves lapped around the shore, as Gorne Magnar, Magnar of Skagos, stood on the edge and looked out and saw.  He had done what no Magnar had done for thousands of years had done, and had rebelled against the might of Winterfell. It was for the best that was what he believed, Winterfell had broken away from the Iron Throne, and had put the north through war, why should Skagos not benefit from this independence and fight for its own freedom?

Bolton had written to him some time ago, expressing a desire to work together to end the Starks hold on the north. Gorne had been interested then, with the Bolton’s rebelling, alongside several other northern houses on the mainland, that would give Winterfell enough of a headache to not be able to effectively deal with a rebellion in Skagos, a break for freedom could be made. Now all he had to do was drum up support amongst the chieftains and other lords on the island.

That as it had turned out had been easier than expected. Houses Crowl and Stane had been more than willing to rebel against Winterfell, and had been willing to make a break for independence. Though Gorne had been expecting that on some basic level, what with Sigorn Cowl being his brother by marriage, and Alys Stane being his sister by marriage. The chieftains had been much harder to convince. Each had questioned why they should not be the ones to lead Skagos into the freedom and independence that Gorne spoke of. Some of the chieftains had rebelled against his authority, and so a battle had broken out in Skagos, a civil war within the island before Gorne could truly plan for a full scale rebellion.

The fighting though short had been fierce, and had resulted in many deaths for the chieftains, though once the leader of the rebellious chieftains had been slain, Gorne had earnt the clans respect, and so the planning for the rebellion could go on. The arming of the clans and the soldiers began first in secret, and then once Lord Horras wrote to Gorne saying that the rebellion had the full support of the Iron Throne it began in earnest, in the open, the call to arms rang throughout Skagos, and the shouts of freedom began.

Gorne though did not particularly care what happened on the main land, as far as he cared, Daeron Stark could exterminate the Boltons, or the Boltons could exterminate the Starks, so long as either side became too weak to deal with an independent Skagos by the end of their own conflict, that would be the ideal situation for Gorne.  He did not want to support the Targaryens attempt to recapture the north for the Iron Throne, oh no, he wanted independence and he wanted it through his own efforts, he would not be handed it on a plate, no he would fight for freedom, he would do it the old way, the Targaryens and their incest born spawn be damned.

Looking back on the planning now, Gorne realised that in his haste to fight for his freedom in the old way, to prove himself worthy of becoming the king of Skagos, he had underestimated Winterfell’s true power. Back when Skagos had last had a king, Moat Cailin had been a desolate ruin, Winterfell had just finished dealing with a Bolton rebellion, and had a child for a king. This time the situation could not be more different. Moat Cailin was a stronghold once more, the Starks had the Iron Islands and a sizeable fleet of their own. They had greater man power now than they did those thousands of years ago. As Gorne watched his island burn, as he saw the ships of the Starks burn their way through his peoples little fishing boats, and saw the men drown, he felt a sense of dread and foreboding creep across him like winters own icy hand.

He moved away from the edge and drew his sword, he was determined that if was to die today; he would die with his sword in hand, like a true warrior, like a true Skagosi. He drew his sword and let loose a terrifying battle cry and ran down from the edge and began cutting his way through the men from Winterfell who would suppress his people.

He hacked and slashed his way through men bearing the merman of House Manderly, bloodying his sword and making his own sing with joy at being free from worries for the moment. This was what he was born to do, fighting and killing, not the politicking of the main land. He hacked and slashed, ducked and dodged, and gutted more and more men, littering the ground with bodies, and blood, the ground drank the blood greedily, and still Gorne went on. Hacking and slashing his way through the men who would prevent his island from being free.

He hacked and slashed, and hacked and slashed, and cut and gutted his way through so many men, he had begun to lose count when suddenly he came across a man with the grey direwolf over grey castle on a field of white that pointed him out as a Stark of Moat Cailin. Gorne let loose a battle cry and charged forward swinging his sword. The other man raised his sword, and they met in a clash of steel. Sparks flew by, and still the two men pushed against each other, their swords clanging and screeching around them.  When they broke apart, more sparks flew, but then Gorne with the battle lust on him, swung his sword in a wide arc, and managed to get past the other man’s upraised sword, and when he felt his sword strike the man’s chest and saw the dent that his sword had made, he gave a lecherous grin underneath his helmet.

Gorne did not relent on his attack, not with the battle lust on him, he swung again and again at the Stark. Sometimes his blows would strike true and would dent the man’s armour, sometimes the man would be able to block his sword swings, other times Gorne hit the man’s helm and heard the sickening crunch of bone being crushed. Still he kept going, there was not ending to it, not now, no he kept swinging his sword, and by the time he pulled back to catch his breath the Stark looked a state, his armour was dented in several places, blood was pouring out from some of the dents, and from the hits Gorne had dealt to his helmet.

The man gave as good as he got though, and soon Gorne found himself on the defensive. The Stark swung his sword like a pro, like a man who had fought in several battles, not just the one. He swung and slashed and hacked, and Gorne found himself on the back foot, raising his sword so many times to block swings that his arms were beginning to hurt, and he wondered when the assault would end. Not for a long time it appeared. For the Stark kept swinging his sword, and Gorne was becoming lax with his tiredness, he felt the man’s sword strike him in the arms, shoulders, chest, legs even on the helmet. So that when he began feeling blood pour out of the dents that the Stark had made, he knew that serious wounds must have been dealt to him. They were even now.

 Still Gorne would not give up without more of a fight. Staggering toward the Stark, he drew his sword forward and raised it high into the air, and brought down but was met half way by Stark’s sword, the screech of steel on steel echoed in Gorne’s ears. Still he pushed on, using all of his strength to try and force the Stark to relent, it did not seem to be working, and so Gorne broke off and then began a series of jabs and cuts and hacks that seemed to weaken the Stark, making the man’s movements much slower. When Gorne pulled back to catch his breath, the Stark did not follow him as he had done the first time they had engaged in blows, instead he hovered slowly and unsteadily on his feet, blood beginning to pour down from his helmet, from the many dents to his armour.

The Stark had guts though, Gorne would give him that much. Despite being heavily wounded and close to death, the man managed to stagger forward, sword raised and managed to deliver a series of quick jabs and cuts that had Gorne back on the back foot, defending himself. The assault, short though it was, was enough to have Gorne bleeding heavily once it was done. Stark had piled him with cuts, jabs, swings, slashes and hacks, some of which found their mark and dented Gorne’s armour even further, some of which managed to break his armour and open up fresh wounds and draw blood. Still Stark was failing, when he felt to his knees; Gorne kicked the man’s sword out of his hands, and then pointed his own sword at the man’s throat. Saying a quick prayer to the old gods, Gorne  removed the man’s helmet and then raised his sword and brought it down in one single arc, cleaving Stark in two. Blood spattered Gorne’s already heavily bloodied armour, but he did not care, that was one less Stark in the world.

Much later as he sat inside his tent with a man tending to his wounds, he heard one of his men give him the report of how things had been going. “The Starks burnt most of our boats Your Grace. The Hundreds of men in the boats died. Sigorn Cowl and his sons were all killed. Alys Stane and her brood are dead.”

Gorne heard the words, but did not take them in. The rebellion, that he had instigated was failing, he could not bear to think about it not now. And so instead he asked the question that had been plaguing his thoughts since morning. “Who was that Stark that I killed? Was it Artos Stark?”

The man looked hesitant. “No Your Grace, it was his eldest son Brandon Stark.”

Gorne sighed. It looked like this war would go on for some more time.

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**High Steward Artos Stark**

“Skagos has rebelled; Gorne Magnar has called the banners.” Artos still remembered hearing his nephew- his king now- utter those words, and he still remembered the sense of dread and nerves that had engulfed him them. The Last time Skagos had rebelled against Winterfell had been thousands of years ago, when Karlon Stark had been sent to put down their rebellion and had been awarded Karhold as a result. The Skagosi were notoriously dangerous fighters, and cannibals to boot. The rebellion that Karlon Stark had put down, had cost him some thousands of men and his own son had died as well.

Artos had known when his nephew Daeron had uttered those words that he and Beron would be sent to deal with Skagos. What with that idiot Bolton having rebelled as well, Daeron would need to crush Bolton if he ever wanted to hope to have a secure hope of holding onto the North and the Crown of Winter. Artos and Beron had set sail from White Harbour, taking with them the Lord of White Harbour, the northern fleet and some 2000 men. The Ironborn were away raiding in Qarth, Quellon had gone there, saying he would bring back goods and riches for Daeron.

Artos and Beron had planned what their strategy would be for fighting the Skagosi whilst on the Grey Dragon- the Royal War Ship- Skagos had three main houses Magnar, Cowl and Stane and thousands of petty chieftains, who often warred with each other, their sources reported that Gorne Magnar had faced some difficulty in bringing all the chieftains into support him, but had after several skirmishes had managed to do so, though there were those who still wished to remain part of the north. The plan would be to send some of the ships to the Fingers to bring up more men, the rest of the royal fleet would assail Skagos, and with help from those clans that disliked Gorne, they would attack the Magnar in his castle atop the Grey Cliffs.

They had arrived at Skagos when summer had been in its dying days. Greeted by Davon Greybeard, a fierce warrior who had fought alongside Artos against Raymun Redbeard, Greybeard had led Artos and his men to the Red Cliffs where he and some 500 clansmen had made their base, and from there it was that Artos learnt that the Skagosi were more divided than had first been thought. Sigorn Cowl wanted to be king of Skagos, whilst Alys Stane simply wished for Gorne Magnar to die, but all three were related through blood or marriage, and all wanted their independence from Winterfell. The forces of Skagos were not gathered in one place, but different parts of the island, and each leader of these different parts of the army wanted some part of the glory, there was tension in Skagos alright, tension that Artos could use to his advantage.

The first fighting had taken place in the Black rocks near the Bay of Seals; men led by a chieftain called Aemon Battleaxe had fought Artos and his men. It had been a fierce battle; lots of men had died, including Battleaxe himself. Artos hacking and slashing his way through the Skagosi clan Battleaxe and their cohorts, had felt the familiar blood rush that often came with war and fighting, he had hacked one man’s head clean off, and then had hacked another man’s arms off, then cut and jabbed his way through the Skagosi until he came face to face with this Aemon Battleaxe.  Battleaxe was a big beast of a man, with long flowing red hair and even redder beard. He wielded a great big axe, and fought like a brute. He had swung at Artos, Artos had managed to just about raise his sword to block the man’s swing, and had then engaged in a fierce duel, the kind that he had last fought with Raymun Redbeard.

Hacking and slashing, cutting and jabbing, ducking and dodging. Doing all he could slow down big Battleaxe, for he remembered the lessons the old Berrick Cassel- Winterfell’s old master at arms- had taught him and his brothers, “A giant may be big and be strong, but they tire easily, the bigger they are the harder they fall.” He jabbed and cut at Battleaxe, provoking the man to swing his axe wildly, and sometimes Artos would even allow the man to strike his armour, leading him to believe that he was winning, when in fact the big brute of a man was tiring himself out.  When the man had begun to struggle to lift his axe up, Artos bruised and bloody and jabbed left, then right, then had gone straight for the brute’s heart, piercing through the light boiled armour the man had worn, killing him with one deep jab through to the heart. Battleaxe’s men had either been slain or had bent the knee once they had learnt of their leader’s death.

Next had come the fighting with another prominent clan chief who was leading Gorne Magnar’s  effort at the Red Cliffs was Bjorn Breakborn, with a name like that Artos had expected the man to be as big, if not bigger than Aemon Battleaxe had been, but when they had arrived at the Red Cliffs, they had found themselves greeted by the sight of a dozen bodies hanging from the tree branches. Red crosses on their bodies, no one knew who could have done the deed but the message was clear, they would rather die than be part of the North again. Artos did not mind for that was one less battle he and his men had to fight.

Then had come the autumn rains, and that had halted their progress. The Skagosi rebels, hid behind their castles, or their cliffs, or their huts and came out at night, and plundered and killed Artos’s men, and took their armour and weapons and food. Waking up in the morning to find, men dead, their throats slit, their armour gone, reminded Artos horribly of the description that his brother Willam had given him, whenever he spoke of the conquest of Dorne, and the haunted look he would get in his eyes, was the same look that was reflected in many of Artos’s men. They no longer thought they were fighting men or savages, but ghosts, and cannibals. Artos prayed each day for the skies to clear, for them to able to march to deal with the Magnar, but each night they went to sleep never knowing whether they would ever wake up again, or not. More often than not, they would wake to find one of their men dead, his throat torn open, or a man missing only to find him later that day, with large chunks of his skin torn out, eaten by the savages.

Eventually the rain had cleared enough to allow them to continue marching, and so they had. The fighting continued to rage on, bitter and fierce. Artos and his son Brandon were in the thick of it, fighting the savages and killing many by the tens, then by the hundreds. Hacking, stabbing, slashing, cutting and jabbing, men had fallen like flies. Blood had spattered to the ground, covering it and the ground had drunk it in greedily. Men had died, women and children who had been caught in the crossfire of the battle had also died. No one was spared. Sigorn Cowl, the fool that he was, had come riding out from his castle, when Artos and his men had pushed close toward the man’s boundaries. Riding a unicorn of all things, the man had cut down Artos’s men left, right and centre. But once Artos had killed the unicorn, the man was as bad a swordsman as any man Artos had ever fought.  Hacking and slashing, cutting and jabbing, all these things Sigorn Cowl had tried to do, but had failed to even scratch Artos, had failed to even reach Artos. Artos had cut and slashed, and within three blows, Sigorn Cowl was dead, a sword through his throat.

Brandon had done in for his sons, swords through the throats for them as well. The rest of Artos’s men had butchered Cowl’s men, it was a true butchery, and not one of the soldiers who had fought for Cowl was left alive, once Artos and his men were done. House Cowl was put to extinction that day, the same day the rains came back. With the rains came more night time deaths, and more proof of the cannibalistic nature of some of the Skagosi. The nightmare continued, as the rains continued, more and more of his men were dying, and it still seemed as if Gorne Magnar would not give up. There had been no word from Beron since he had set sail to bring more men from the Fingers, but with the weather being the way it was, Artos was not too optimistic.

His only hope was that, the Targaryens did not send any help to the Skagosi, and that his men did not die out before they could mount a challenge for the Grey Cliffs, for the Cliffs as Greybeard had told them, the Grey Cliffs were the symbol of power in Skagos, if they controlled them, they would get the island to bend the knee. Though, after the rain came the autumn storms, their food was beginning to deplete, the men’s moral was weaken. Artos knew that they needed to get marching; otherwise the effort would be lost.

Two moons after the storms began, they broke, and they marched for the Grey Cliffs, with a severly depleted force of men. Some of the Skagosi that had come over to their side had been killed for traitors during the night, they bodies savaged by their kinsmen who still fought for the Magnar, most of the men Artos had brought with him had been killed either in battle or in the night by the savages. Still they arrived at the foot of the Grey Cliffs, battered and tired and ready for home, still they stood strong, and they fought with the Magnar’s men. Some 2000 men from House Magnar and their levies, plus another 100 clansmen fought for Gorne Magnar, against Artos and his 500 northmen and some 50 clansmen, they should have been butchered where they stood, but the Skagosi fighting for Gorne Magnar were not battle hardened men, nor where they particularly disciplined.

Artos and his men fought a long hard battle, just as the rain began to fall again. Against the men of Magnar and their unicorns they fought, hacking, slashing, jabbing and cutting. Blood and bodies littered the ground, and still the men fought on, even as their numbers began to deplete they fought on, even as it looked like all would be lost, they fought on. At some point during the battle, Artos was separated from his son Brandon, and as he took sword wounds to the chest and arms and legs he began to see his vision fade, he began to hope that Brandon would make it out alive. He felt himself fall to the ground, his head jarring sharply against the blood and body stained ground, he saw his vision begin to shake, the battle was lost, the war was done, they could not survive, not for much longer. Around him the battle still raged, men were fighting oblivious to the truth that had become so apparent to Artos Stark as he lay there in the dirt, bleeding from multiple wounds, men died screaming for their mothers, and yet battle still raged. Just as he closed his eyes, he heard a battle cry go up from somewhere far away that sounded surprisingly like his brother Beron.

Artos Stark awoke in the dead of night, in his tent, the storms had come again. He tried to get up but winced with pain, and fell back down to bed. “Ah so your awake then. Good.” Artos heard his brother Beron’s sarcastic tone.

“What happened?” Artos asked.

“Well, we managed to defeat the bastards if that’s what you’re wondering.” Beron said.

“Gorne Magnar what happened to him?” Artos asked.

Beron seemed to hesitate and then said “He still lives, he fought Brandon and killed him. He fled when he realised who I was.”

Artos took a deep shuddering breath. Brandon dead, his eldest son, his little boy dead. He felt anger pool up in the pit of his stomach then, he would have his revenge, and he would. “How many men did you bring Beron?”

“Four hundred brother. Lord Sunderland was most generous, though he did tell me some disturbing news.”

Artos felt his gut clench, had something happened to Daeron? If so they were lost. “What happened brother?”

“The Falseborn has sent 1,000 men north under command of our king’s cousin Ser Jon Waters to try and take Moat Cailin, the bastard has help from the Flint’s of Flint’s Finger. Moat Cailin is under siege.”

Artos felt his gut clench, his sons Benjen and Edwyle were at Moat Cailin, those Targaryen bastards had dared strike now, had they no honour, no sense of right or wrong. This whole rebellion reeked of that kinslayer. “Any news from the mainland Beron, how is Daeron doing?”

He heard his younger brother swallow. “Deepwood Motte is under siege, Ryswells and Tallharts. The Mormonts have been unable to sail to help the Glovers, Stony Shore has fallen Lord Glover is dead. Steffon Cassel is leading the effort to lift the siege, he helped retake Castle Cerwyn. No news about how the fight against that idiot Bolton is going though.”

Artos sighed, Deepwood Motte under siege, with no Ironborn there to help, it could take a long time. This war in Skagos had already taken the better part of three years. “We must kill the Magnar, how many men does he have left?”

“200. Most of his men either died or bent the knee when we arrived. His sons are dead, only a little babe at the breast and a daughter remain to his line.” Beron replied.

“Good, now leave me I must rest.” Artos said before he closed his eyes.

It took him a whole moon to recover from his wounds, a moon in which more skirmishes occurred and more Skagosi and northmen died a moon in which the remaining clan chiefs reswore their allegiance to Winterfell and to Daeron, a moon in which they learnt of the fall of Qarth and the death of Quellon Greyjoy. A moon in which Artos allowed his anger and his desire to get revenge build up, so that when he was fully fit and ready to fight, he would be at his best.

The battle was long and fierce and lasted many a day. Much blood was spilt; more men left this world to join the old gods in the trees. But Artos fought on with a savagery he had not felt since he had fought Raymun Redbeard all those years ago. He fought and fought and fought, and never once did he put his sword down, not to rest, not to sleep ever. He kept on fighting, and with each life he ended he could feel himself getting closer to ending Gorne Magnar’s life.

Eventually that day came. They fought each other on the edge of the Grey Cliff, Artos Stark and Gorne Magnar, one wielding a sword the other a Morningstar. And so they fought, hacking, cutting, jabbing, stabbing, slashing, dodging, weaving and ducking. They fought, denting and cutting and bleeding, until both men were exhausted from the effort, until both men were covered with scratches and bruises and blood. Artos Stark knocked his opponent’s sword from his hand and in one swift motion pushed his own sword through the man’s heart, ending the Magnar’s life. But then he felt the exhaustion and the blood loss get to him, and he fell to his knees before the man whose life he had just ended and collapsed into a heap of blood and bone and steel. Artos Stark, the implacable, the able High Steward of the North, Lord of Moat Cailin, was dead.

\-----------------

* * *

 

**Lord Commander Theon Stark**

Summer had died, autumn was king now. The leaves had fallen from the trees, the godswood and the weirwood were crying tears of blood, and treachery had come to pass. The Boltons had declared that they  were free from the Kingdom of Winter, and as such had raised a host at the Dreadfort, and had called upon minor houses to rebel with them. Stony Shore had fallen, Deepwood Motte was under siege, the Mormonts were unable to come to assist the Glovers, though Steffon Cassel was proving himself an able warrior and commander, having taken back Castle Cerwyn from the Condons, had freed the Dustins from those forces of the Ryswells and Stouts who had laid siege to Barrow Hall. Cassel was marching west to lift the siege of Deepwood Motte.

The eastern side of the conflict was just beginning, the Weeping Water was full of bodies from the night before’s conflict. Still the battle raged on. Theon looked around the battlefield from where he sat atop Starfall his golden stallion, protection his brother King Daeron Stark. The battle raged around them, men were fighting and killing and dying, and screaming for their mothers, for anyone to hold back the pain. “We ride now Theon.” Theon heard his brother say in his deep Kingly voice. Theon spurred Starfall on and rode, he saw where and why his brother had wanted to move now, there ahead of them were the Boltons- Horras the lord, Jonothor his heir and Domeric the second son- killing all three would end the rebellion.

They met in a clash of steel, and Theon felt his blood sing with the meeting of sword on sword. He swung at Domeric Bolton, and felt his sword connect with the man’s armour, Bolton swung back at him, but Theon managed to get his shield up in time to block the blow. They exchanged blows, back and forth, till both of their armour were dented and they were covered in blood, and bruises. Domeric Bolton turned his horse around and rode back toward the Dreadfort, Theon was about to give chase when he saw Bolton’s youngest brother Edrick advancing toward him, a mace in hand. Theon swung hard as did Edrick, and their weapons met in a clang of steel and metal. Sparks flew past both men, but still they kept going, hacking here, slashing there, cutting right, and jabbing left. Neither man was willing to give ground, both men were covered in blood and sweat and dirt, when eventually Theon managed to break through Edrick’s defences and shoved his sword through Edrick’s gut, when he pulled his sword out, his sword was covered in blood, and Edrick had fallen off of his horse and was bleeding profusely on the ground.

Theon looked around and saw his brother engaged in a fierce battle with Horras Bolton, his nephew Aemon fighting in a fierce duel with Jonothor Bolton, Theon was glad to see Jeyne Mormont and Strongaxe were near Daeron, thus allowing Theon to go on and fight more of the traitors who would think to attack his brother when he was otherwise preoccupied. Theon hacked and cut a bloody path through the Bolton soldiers and those of House Lake, hacking and slashing his way through, till he came face to face with Lord Mors Lake. Theon swung at the man, and found that he connected with the man’s armour, piercing it and killing the man instantly. He rode on and cut down Lord Lake’s son and heir, a sword through the throat. He rode on and cut down more and more men with the flayed man of House Bolton on their armour.

Suddenly he found himself with no more foes to fight, wondering what had happened he turned round in his saddle and saw them all fleeing back to the Dreadfort, somewhere in the distance he heard his brother Cregan shout at him to kill as many of them as he could. Theon did as requested, cutting down as many men with the flayed man of House Bolton and the sigil of House Lake and House Forrester as he could. He had counted forty men dead when he was knocked from his horse, and knocked unconscious.

He came to inside a tent, his head pounding; he looked up and saw his brothers looking over him concerned expressions on their faces. “Don’t ever do anything like that again you idiot Theon do you hear me!” Daeron said anger laced in his voice.

Theon was about to protest, when Daeron spoke again. “You’re lucky that you managed to kill so many of that traitor Bolton’s commanders in your mad dash for glory, otherwise I’d have had you striped of your grey cloak.”

Theon was surprised; he’d managed to kill commanders?! Before he could voice his thoughts though, Cregan spoke. “What will you do now brother? Bolton has surrendered, his heir is dead but Domeric has escaped.”

Theon was surprised; they had been fighting for many years now, had it been three since he’d last seen Winterfell and its grey stone walls? They had laid siege to the Dreadfort for two years before Horras Bolton had finally come out and fought. Theon was about to ask what had happened to make Bolton surrender when his nephew Aemon spoke. “Uncle Daeron, the traitor Bolton is out on the block as you asked.” Theon saw his brother nod in acknowledgement.

Then heard him say “Bolton will be executed, I will not have him survive, his son Jonothor is dead, his son Domeric is a hunted man, let the bastard go to King’s Landing, he will never be welcome in the north again. House Bolton is dead in the north. The Dreadfort is yours Cregan, for you and Elena and your children and descendants. With Skagos brought back to the fold, Uncle Beron will be coming back to Winterfell soon. Steffon should bring those idiots Ryswell and Stout back into line. Theon will go and lift the siege at Moat Cailin, and help Edwyle deal with those Flint’s in Flint’s Finger.”

With that Daeron walked out of the tent, and Cregan helped Theon get dressed into his clothes and armour in silence, though before they left the tent Theon could not resist the urge to crack a joke. “So you’ve been given the Dreadfort eh Cregan. House Stark of the Dreadfort, doesn’t have the same ring to it as House Dreadstark does it now?”

His brother said nothing, but Theon saw him crack a grin. As they walked and stood beside their brother and King. Daeron looked imposing in his dark blue armour, the crown of winter on top of his head. “Horras Bolton, for rebelling against your king, for breaking your oath of fealty, for inciting other houses to rebel with you, for attempting to kill my nephew, my sister, for conspiring with the Targaryens for the detriment of the north, I Daeron of House Stark, first of my name, King of the North, King of Winter, King of the First Men, and Protector of the Faith, do sentence you to die.” Theon saw his brother raise Ice high into the air, and bring it down in one smooth motion, removing Bolton’s head in one clean stroke. The rebellion was over. But Theon’s head was still spinning from all he had learnt.


	12. Liberate

**Steffon Cassel**

Autumn had come to the north, and with it had come war and rebellion and treason. Horras Bolton, a man who had a fearsome reputation in the north had rebelled against King Daeron Stark, and with him, several minor houses in the north had rebelled against the authority of Winterfell. King Daeron had called the banners of those houses still loyal to Winterfell, and had sent some 2000 men with his uncles Artos and Beron to Skagos to deal with the rebellion there, he had then marched with some 5,000 men to the Dreadfort to fight and end Horras Bolton and his line, and the rest of the men had been given to Steffon to lead. A great honour for the young man, who at two and twenty was already the head of House Cassel, a house that had served House Stark loyally for thousands of years since its founding long before the dragons had come to Westeros.

Steffon had quickly learnt that it was greed that had encouraged most of the minor houses to rebel alongside the Boltons, no sense of injustice or frustration with Winterfell, just plain greed. The houses that rebelled were minor houses, and from what Steffon had been able to garner from Rodrik Condon when Steffon had questioned him, these minor houses and their lords had been promised a great many riches by both Horras Bolton and the Targaryens should the rebellion end successfully for them. Condon was dead now though, his head mounted on a spike in Castle Cerwyn, his army broken and defeated. His line put to extinction, no children left, they had all been grown sons, his wife had joined the Silent Sisters, and his brother had been slain.

This rebellion was Steffon’s first true taste of war, he had been too young to march south when King Daeron had called the banners, his father and brother had gone south though, and they had not returned. Their bodies were buried in cairns somewhere in the south. Steffon’s mother had died from a broken heart a few years after the Blackfyre rebellion, se had not been the same since the raven had come announcing in Daeron Stark’s hand that Steffon’s father and brother had died fighting for a cause they had believed in, and that their deaths would be avenged one day.

For Steffon that time had come, the rebels were fighting for the Targaryens, they had broken their sworn oaths to their king, and Steffon would have his revenge, he would have his justice. At Castle Cerwyn the battle had been bloody and fierce, many men had died that day, even more had made a name for themselves. Steffon knew that he himself had fought like a man possessed, hacking and slashing, and cutting his way through the throngs of soldiers that had stood in his path, till he had come face to face with Rodrik Condon. The two of them had fought a fierce duel, slashing and parrying each other like men fighting for their lives- they were- until Steffon had disarmed Condon, and then had had him questioned before executing him. The man’s sons and brother had all been dead by that point, his line had ended with him, Castle Cerwyn was free again, and Condon’s keep would be given to a more loyal and deserving house at the end of this rebellion.

Steffon had received word from Winterfell that he was to go to Deepwood Motte and lift the siege there. Ryswell and Tallhart men had the castle under siege, a fierce battle had been fought at Stony Shore before the siege had taken place, and it had cost the lives of the whole of the Stout army and Lord Glover. The Mormonts were unable to get across to help the Glovers due to harsh weather conditions at sea and with the Ironborn away in Qarth, it had fallen to Steffon to lead a full on assault.  They had come across an army led by Torrhen Slate that intercepted their march toward Deepwood Motte, and a battle had occurred. There had been much hacking, slashing, cutting and jabbing and at the end of the battle, Slate was dead and his men were either dead or had bent the knee.

After that all they had to contend with before they marched toward Deepwood Motte was the weather, which it seemed to Steffon was doing its hardest to try and ensure that they did not make it to Deepwood Motte. The skies opened up more than once, and gave way to torrential downpours and sleet and even at one point light snow began to fall. Some of his men took it as a sign from the Old Gods that perhaps Deepwood Motte would fall before they could get there in time, Steffon however, did not. King Daeron was the one true king of the North, the king the north needed now, the Old Gods would not deny their vassal his kingdom. And so they pushed on.

Finally after two weeks of solid marching they had reached Deepwood Motte, and they had found the castle surrounded by tents, each with the sigil of the rebel and traitorous houses on them.  Word had reached Steffon as he had marched through the rain that the Dreadfort had surrendered after a long siege, three years it had been since the rebellion had begun, skirmishes a plenty Steffon had fought in since then, and now they were so close to ending this damned rebellion but it appeared Matthew Forrester was not.

It came down to battle. Steffon and his men, tired and exhausted from three years of fighting, formed up in their positions, hardened by the experiences of war, and against a foe that after the initial fighting of Stony Shore had simply sat on their laurels for three years whilst the people in Deepwood Motte starved. That was an injustice that Steffon would make them pay for. And so the battle began. Steffon drew his sword and yelled the commands for his men to begin the fighting. Swords were drawn and the charge began a clash of steel on steel. Hacking, slashing, cutting, jabbing, doing all they could to stay alive, Steffon fought and cut his way through the men.

His sword was bloodied, and still he fought, ducking, dodging, surviving, living, breathing, he fought and fought and fought. He littered the ground with bodies, painted his sword red with blood, the blood of northmen. His anger only increased the more men he killed, the dragons had brought this to the north, and they had turned good honest men into traitors, for their pride had been stung during the Blackfyre war. Still he fought on; he fought for his home, for his family, for his king. He hacked and slashed and cut down men twice as old as him, but also men who were mere boys, green as grass.

Eventually the fighting stopped, those traitors threw down their swords, and the siege of Deepwood Motte was lifted. A cheer went up around the Wolfswood as the men heard that they had been victorious. Steffon rode up to the gates of the castle to be presented with a gaunt and almost skeleton looking Ethan Glover, the man who had held Deepwood Motte through the siege for three years. Steffon dismounted from his horse and greeted Ethan, like a long lost friend. “Lord Glover, it is good to see you, alive and well.”

“You as well Master Cassel, I am no lord though, and I only did what I was instructed to do by our King.” Glover replied, sounding older than his four and twenty years.

Steffon looked around the courtyard and not finding his sister or his nephews in the courtyard he began to feel nerves creep up into his system. “Where are Sybelle and Donnel and Rickon?”

Glover’s eyes showed countless amounts of pain then when he looked at Steffon and Steffon felt his heart clench, and break. “We have not had food for the past year now, we have been living off the rats and dogs and cats. Sybelle and the children could not handle the break; Donnel died two moons past, Rickon three weeks ago, Sybelle last night. I am sorry Steffon.”

Steffon felt his heart break, his sister and nephews were dead, he truly was alone now. He could not say anything for a few moments. But remained standing in the courtyard as his men brought forth Matthew Forrester the man responsible for the siege in the first place. Steffon glowered at the man as he was brought forth bounded and chained. “You rebelled against your king Forrester; you broke your oath of fealty, and for what? Many men, women and children have died because of your actions. For this you shall be sentenced to death, his grace King Daeron Stark shall execute you himself.”

Forrester said nothing, and was taken away from the courtyard to the cells beneath the castle. Steffon still felt numb, even as he walked with his sister’s goodbrother back into the castle, he did not listen to much of what his friend said, nor did they truly speak much. Steffon just felt numb, he had fought so hard to get to Deepwood Motte to free his sister and her sons, her husband had been killed at Stony Shore, and yet he had been too late, just as he had been too late to save mother from that bastard Domeric.

Eventually they entered the master’s solar in the castle and both men sat down, tired and gaunt and hungry. As they waited for food to come, Ethan spoke once more. “What news of the rest of the war? Has his grace killed those damnable Boltons?”

Steffon swallowed once, and then said. “His Grace broke the Dreadfort, Horras and Jonothor Bolton is both dead. The bastard Domeric fled though, men report seeing him in White Harbour whilst Manderly was occupied in Skagos. Search parties have not found him nor his treacherous friends. Skagos has bent the knee; Gorne Magnar was slain, though Artos Stark is dead. Beron Stark has taken the new Magnar has a hostage back to the Wolf’s Den.”

Glover was about reply, when the maester of Deepwood Motte came bustling through. “I am very sorry to disturb you Master Ethan, but a raven has just come from Winterfell.”

Steffon read the letter alongside Ethan and felt his heart drop once more, they were being ordered to Moat Cailin to help lift the siege there. The war would not end, damn those Targaryens and their cursed pride.

* * *

 

**Edwyle**

_“The Targaryens think they can just march north and starve us out, even though we are a free people now? No, I shall not let this happen. Father has taken Skagos, though Brandon is dead, cousin Daeron has taken the Dreadfort, we have ended this rebellion, we must end this now. Waters won’t know what has hit him!” Benjen had said fiercely._

_“You can’t be serious Benjen,” Melissa had said her voice laced with anger and incredulity. “We have very little food and the garrison is beginning to lose hope, with father injured and Brandon dead, should you go out there and challenge Waters to a fight, and lose we shall be lost, and they will surrender this castle to the Targaryens and all of our heads shall be on spikes. No let them starve themselves out there, Waters is getting bored of waiting for us to surrender, he will do something rash and then we can strike.”_

_Benjen had pulled a face then, and had replied in a cold voice. “I will not sit here and let that bastard feast himself to an early grave, whilst our people starve. The Targaryens want us to bend the knee, but we shall not, we shall never bend the knee to those incestuous bastards. They killed cousin Daemon, for nothing more than he had the true claim, they want Daeron dead because, he had the guts to stand up to them, and they tried to kill Barbery and Aemon because they love each other. No so long as I live, Moat Cailin will never belong to the Targaryens. We are Starks and if I die, I want it to be with a sword in hand.”_

_That had been the end of that discussion, Benjen had stormed out of the room, then his face set in a hard stone like expression. Melissa had looked hopeless and as if she was about to cry. The next day Benjen had marched outside of the gates of Moat Cailin with the banner of both the royal winter banner and the banner of Moat Cailin, and had spoken with the man who was laying siege to their home, for the pretenders to the Iron Throne. Waters had expected the parley to be about the surrender that those southerners expected to happen, but instead Benjen had challenged the man to a duel._

_Edwyle had stood next to Melissa and their ring of guardsmen- who had had strict instructions that should anything go wrong in the duel, that they were to be helped back inside the castle and then taken north to Winterfell- they had held each other’s hands, tension and nerves making both of them silent.  Benjen had emerged then, dressed in silver plate and mail, the direwolf of House Stark of Moat Cailin embedded on his armour, his greatsword in his hand. Waters had emerged as well, dressed in black armour, the three headed dragon of his mother’s house and the seahorse of his father’s house combatant on his armour. Both men had advanced forward, and drawn their swords and the battle had begun._

_Benjen had swung first, missing Waters helmet by a whisker. Waters had brought his sword up but Benjen had managed to block the sword with his own. Both men had swung and blocked blows for what seemed like an age, before the first true blow was struck, Waters brought his sword up high and hit Benjen in the chin, drawing blood. Then the fight had passed in a blur of hacking, slashing, cutting, and jabbing, and before Edwyle knew what was happening, his brother and Waters were lying face down in the snow covered ground, their swords buried in the other, blood covering the ground spilling out from both men. Chaos had soon followed as Edwyle and his sister were escorted back into the castle and the gates were shut and the siege resumed.  All the while Edwyle struggled to understand what had happened, his brothers were dead, he was the lord now, but he was not ready...._

Edwyle snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the sound of a horn being blown. He looked around to see where he was and remembering that he was in the courtyard, he finished putting on his armour and looked around for his sister and for his friend Jon Royce. Finding them he gestured for them both to come over, and once they were standing by his side he spoke. “Banners have been sighted north of here, Osrick reports that they fly the grey dragon and grey direwolf of Daeron, if so Theon has come to help us. Ser Odrick Arryn will not relent in the siege though. It has been six moons since Benjen died, we must end this siege now, Arryn must die, and then I will deal with the Flints.”

Royce said nothing, though Melissa did. “You do not have to lead the charge brother, send someone else to.” She was pleading with him, Edwyle felt his heart contract painfully at her words, after all they had been through over the past three years, he never wanted Melissa to feel pain at all, and he would kill the man who caused her pain. Still he had a job to do.

“I must Mel, its my duty as a Stark, father and Brandon led men in Skagos, Benjen led the defence here. I am a Stark and I will die before I let a Targaryen ever set foot in Moat Cailin or the north ever again without my leave. No I will end this siege or die trying.” And so without further ado he put on his wolf helmet, and mounted his silver stallion and rode forth through the gates with his men. Cries of Stark and Edwyle echoing in the air.

It was as he had predicted the moment he went past the gates, his cousin Theon had come with men sent from the Dreadfort to lift the siege that had plagued them for three years. With him he had brought Steffon Cassel and some 12,000 men it seemed that the Targaryens would be in for a fight. Edwyle roared a primal battle cry and began the fighting once more. He hacked left, he slashed right, he cut in the centre, he fought and fought, the blood was high and he fought with a vengeance, for father, for Brandon, for Benjen, for Melissa he fought. He cared not whether the man in front of him bore the coat of the Targaryens or some other bastard southern house that was fighting for the red dragon, they would take all that was dear from him, and that he could not have and so he fought on.

On he fought, hacking and slashing, the battle madness had overtaken him. He would leave no man alive now, not if they fought for the red dragon, they had taken his loved ones from him, they would pay. Hacking and slashing, he painted the ground red with the bodies that he made litter the ground. Hacking and slashing, his sword was covered red, the fighting raged on. The cries of men, the screams of the dying, all those echoed in his ears and still he fought. Hacking, slashing, cutting, jabbing, dodging and weaving, he fought. He would win; avenge the wrongs done, no other way for justice.

On the battle raged, hacking, death was present fiercely today. After so long, fearing whether or not they would wake one day to find the gates broken down, Edwyle knew he had to have his vengeance now, right now. He cut his way through the men who stood in his way, looking for one man in particular. He slashed a man’s throat open, he did not stop to watch the man bleed out, he simply moved on. On he went, cutting a bloody path through the men of the red dragon, his sword covered in blood, the ground littered with bodies and red blood.

And then he saw him, Torreg Flint, the man of the Flint of Flint Fingers, the traitors. “FLINT!” Edwyle bellowed, Flint turned round and when he saw Edwyle the coward bolted, spurring his horse onward to escape from Edwyle. “COWARD, COME FACE DEATH, LIKE A REAL MAN!” Edwyle bellowed once more, spurring his horse to catch up with the man. Cutting down those men who stood in his path, till he found himself cornering Flint. He charged at the man and swung striking the man on his chest plate, he swung again and again, each time hitting the man somewhere new, denting his armour and drawing blood until Flint no longer struggled, and still he swung his sword.

Till he felt someone pulling him off of Flint, he struggled but the man was bigger than he was, stronger too. “Ed that’s enough. Ed stop he’s dead.”

Edwyle turned stopped struggling then and looked up to see himself looking at his cousin Theon Stark, Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard. Blood and dirt coated his cousin’s armour, and yet Edwyle could not truly think on that, it was simply relief, that his cousin was here, that he wouldn’t have to deal with the war anymore. “Did we win coz?” Edwyle said his words beginning to slur.

“Aye we did. Flint is dead, his son dead, his brothers dead. Arryn dead, the southerners fled the minute they realised Arryn was dead, though some tried to keep fighting, they got massacred as they fought, the cranongmen have killed some of those southern cravens who fled.” Theon replied.

Edwyle felt a sharp pain in his side as he moved. “Why does my side feel like it’s on fire coz?”

“Because you took so many wounds to the chest and the side you rode like a beast, but an idiot. Come you must rest now, we shall take later.” His cousin replied. And soon Edwyle found him walking with his cousin’s help back to the castle, where with the help of Melissa he was taken back to his chambers and where he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next few days were spent recovering and dealing with the ending of the siege. Many men and women and children had died during the siege, but Edwyle and his family had done their duty to their king. Moat Cailin had not fallen, the Targaryens had not had a chance to enter the north, nor would they try again. But Edwyle still had nightmares, of the pain and suffering he had seen, of his brother’s death, his head on a spike for the world to see, of the men he had killed to live. Sometimes, his sister would have to sleep alongside him at night to make sure he did not delve to deep into the realms of darkness that so often threatened to overtake him now.

The Flints of Flint’s Finger were all dead; there had been no females in their line. The house was finished. Edwyle was riding north to Winterfell today with his sister and his cousin to listen to Daeron speak of what would happen next to the north, with the rebellion crushed and the Boltons either dead or fled. Edwyle spent most of his time with Melissa, the siege had taught him the importance of family, they had lost so much of it during this god damned war and siege, that he was determined that he would never lose his sister, not for anyone.

The atmosphere in Winterfell as court was called, was electric, all the houses of the north seemed to be there, including those that had fought for the Boltons. There was tension alright, enough that some of the guards in the hall had to break up several fights that had broken out, and that was all before Daeron had entered the room. When he did, the whole hall went silent, and Daeron walked into the room with his wife and two children- Aegor now nine and Daena now four- the Winter’s Guard followed close behind him. Daeron cut an imposing figure, though Edwyle saw the tiredness and weariness on his cousin’s features, when Daeron sat on the weirwood throne, all sat down and then waited for their king to speak.

“A terrible thing has occurred. Rebellion based on false promises, and lies. The Targaryens promised many of you things that they had no intention of giving, that, the traitor Horras Bolton had no intention of giving you. But that is past now, war was fought, men and women and children have died because of one man’s greed. Enough is enough. We shall have peace in the north now, the south can keep their wars and their petty feuds, we shall have peace. Those who do not wish peace leave now, but you shall not leave alive.” Daeron said in a voice of iron, Edwyle felt the hairs on the back of his arm stand up on end, and he shivered. Melissa grasped his hand tightly.

Daeron went on. “Peace shall rule in the north. Those that rebelled with the traitor Horras Bolton shall be pardoned but shall be stripped of their rank and titles. They shall also henceforth give up one hostage each for good behaviour, should they break this peace, they and their child shall die,” the silence was deafening. “Those that fought loyally and justly for the North shall be rewarded. Uncle Beron.” Edwyle saw his uncle Beron step forward then with a roll of parchment.

“By order of His Grace Daeron Stark, King of the North and the Iron Islands, Lord of the First Men, and Protector of the Old and Drowned Gods, those that fought loyally for the Kingdom of Winter against the traitors’ in House Bolton shall be rewarded. To Steffon of House Cassel, the Lordship of Stony Shore shall be awarded, as well as a great castle and port that shall be built using the money taken from the Dreadfort and other traitors. Steffon Cassel shall also marry his grace’s youngest sister Lady Bethany Stark. To Ethan of House Glover, the lordship of Deepwood Motte is awarded as well as its lands and titles and incomes. To Jon Royce, for fighting faithfully and loyally with his graces cousins Benjen and Edwyle Stark, the lordship of Flint’s Finger, from this day forth to be known as Shadow Point is given.  As is with the acceptance of his grace’s cousins Edwyle and Melissa Stark, the hand of Melissa Stark in marriage. “

Daeron got up and spoke then. “Finally, Edwyle. You fought through the odds and stuck out against those bastards. You held the Moat and the entrance through thick and thin. For this I give you the whole of the neck, and the lands up to Torrhen’s Square.”

With this the court session was ended and Edwyle left with his sister, still in a state of shock.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. The Dead Rise From The Shadow Of Lies

**Dagon**

Qarth, the so called greatest city that was and ever will be was a smoking ruin. It had been ripe for the taking, and so the Ironborn under Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, had sailed across the sea to the underside of Essos, and they had with the permission of Dagon’s cousin Daeron Stark, sacked the city. The conflict had been relatively bloody, a story for the ages, many men had made their names during the fighting and the sack, and many salt wives had been taken, conquest and legends had been made during the sack. But all was not as it seemed, Qarth had fought back hard, and the losses of the Ironborn had been many fold more than what they had expected, Dagon’s father Quellon had been slain during the fighting, that the city had been ripe for the taking could not be denied, but that the Qartheens were unprepared was a lie, a lie that the maester at Pyke had forgotten to tell Dagon’s father, and it was a like that would make the maester wish he had not been born.

Qarth’s vast wealth was something that could be put to good use to help improve the kingdom of winter, and it would also help refill the coffers of the Ironborn which had been depleting over the years, what with their traditional practices of reaving having been outlawed since the time of Aegon the Dragon. Dagon’s father had put these reasons forward, and even though at the time they began their invasion of Qarth he was eight and fifty, Quellon Greyjoy still deigned to lead the Ironborn into their invasion of Qarth. But of course Dagon had come to expect nothing less from his father. Ever since he had been old enough to understand, Dagon had grown up hearing the tales of how his father had always led from the front, whenever he had been given a mission to do by the King, be it the raiding of Dorne during the reign of the Conquest of Dorne. Dagon knew for a fact that, Dorne still trembled at the mere mention of his father’s name, that his father was one of the most feared men and his ship The Royal Kraken, was one of the most feared ships in existence.

Dagon Greyjoy had grown up hearing the stories of his father’s conquests, had grown up in his father’s rather large and impressive shadow. His father, who was hailed as the greatest Lord Reaper of Pyke, since the Seven Kingdoms had become one, who was seen as the trusted man of the seas for both the Young Dragon and the Winter Dragon, Quellon Greyjoy was a hard man from a hard land, who dealt not with cravens and weaklings but with harsh words and harsher fists. Dagon could still remember sailing with his father during the Blackfyre rebellion, could still remember seeing his father in the thick of the action as they made Lannisport burn, as they put the Golden Lions into the shitter, as they destroyed the falseborn’s hold on the West. He had seen the way his father had held the respect of his captains and crew, how he had never shied away from doing anything that would get his hands dirty, he had seen just how fierce a fighter his father truly was, and how skilled a leader his father was as well. It was something that Dagon had desperately tried to emulate as a child growing up, and something that he now needed to continue, if his next plans for the Ironborn were to be successful.

As Dagon watched the ships sail on the sea, he remembered a long ago conversation that he had had with his father once, after the battle of Lannisport. He had thought himself a true man then, having won much glory for himself, killing Damon Lannister’s eldest son- Tytos- having fought against some of the best men in the West and in Westeros, and having matched them blow for blow. He had been high of off the battle, but then when he had come down he had the most horrible nightmares, the visions of Lannisport burning, of women and children, of grown men screaming and crying out for their loved ones who were more than likely, had haunted him, had made sleep nigh on impossible. His father had sat down with him, and had told him one thing and one thing only, “Never let the battle get to you son, fight as fiercely as I know you can, but never let the battle get to you. Otherwise you will never be free from demons.” It was only one simple piece of advice but it was something that Dagon had kept close to his person in all the years since then.

It was that one piece of advice that had allowed Dagon to keep on fighting through the carnage that had been the conquest of the Summer Islands, which had once again been done to help supplement the Kingdom of Winter that conquest had occurred some two years ago now. Fierce fighting and much bloodshed had occurred and yet whilst others swept their sorrows under the rug with drink and women, Dagon watched his father fight through all the pain and horror and sorrow that such fighting brought about, and watched him continue to lead his men as if nothing else was going on. Dagon had often heard it said that his father was like an incarnation of the Drowned God fierce and proud, and that had never seemed more true than when he had watched his father fight during the taking of Qarth. Many men half his age had come up against him and all had been sent to the Drowned God’s watery halls, all were dead and his father had moved onto the next opponent.

Still though Qarth had fallen to them, they had sustained many more casualties than they had been expecting including Quellon Greyjoy- who died like a true warrior- one of the many prisoners that Dagon had captured after the fighting had been done and the last of the merchant princes had been slain, had spoken of the plot to draw the Ironborn away from the mainland, so that a rebellion could be launched in the north by Horras Bolton- a slippery fellow if there ever was one- and Dagon had raged and raged when he had heard this. Their maester was a spy for that kingslaying abomination and had led them down a false root, giving them instruction as to where and how to take Qarth, but giving it in such a way that it had taken them much longer to arrive at the god damn city, than it should have done. Therefore giving the people of Qarth time to prepare for a long and drawn out fight, which of course cost both sides many lives, all so that that one eyed abomination could reap havoc in the north. Oh Dagon was angry alright, and he would have his revenge, but first he had had to think of his mother and his wife and family back home.

Due to his father’s marriage to his mother Jeyne, Dagon was King Daeron Stark’s cousin, and as such his loyalty would always be to Winterfell, as would his children’s considering that he was married to his cousin- Daeron’s sister- Velena. He had written to Pyke after his father’s death and passing to inform his mother and family of it, and he knew that his mother would take the news hard. She and father had loved each other deeply; it was plain for all to see. Whilst father had been strict and tough with his children, Lady Jeyne had been caring and compassionate, the type of person that would always be there to look out for you and point you in the right direction should you go astray, Dagon knew that he had needed his mother’s help on more than one occasion growing up. His father’s death would hit her hard; it would hit the whole Iron Islands hard, especially as his death could have been avoided.

Velena, his beautiful wife, whom he had not seen in so long. She and he had been married for roughly twelve years now, and each day he was away from her was like a new wound was being opened inside of him. He missed her smiles, her laugh, he missed talking with her. And he missed their children, Rodrick, Theon, Bethany and Asha, he missed them and he could not wait to see them, but first he would have his revenge on the Greenlanders for plotting against him and his father.

The closer they got to land, the more ships that Dagon could see, signalling for his men to begin lighting the torches, Dagon walked back inside to his cabin to suit up. As he was putting on his armour, he heard the first torches begin to be thrown, and heard the resounding screams and cries from the Reachermen, he smiled a sly smile. The Reach would burn before the Targaryens could even bat an eyelid. Dagon put on his helmet and walked out toward the main part of his ship, drawing his sword. His men were already engaged in combat with the Reachermen, and it seemed that they had the better of it. Dagon swung his sword to his left, taking of a man’s arm. He swung his sword to the right, and left a man short a head. He swung his sword again and again, cleaving a bloody path through the Reachermen, and painting the floor of his ship red with blood.

Walking across the ropes his men had attached, Dagon continued his onslaught. Swinging his sword like a mad man, hacking a man here, cleaving a man there, his sword cut through more bone and skin and flesh than he could ever remember it doing before. And yet all the time he was swinging his sword and killing men, he kept repeating the words his father had told him, on that day long ago in Lannisport. He kept swinging his sword, and cleaving is way through the Reachermen, but he did not truly see them, instead he thought of something else, something that would keep the nightmares at bay.  Once all the men on the ship were dead, Dagon moved onto the next ship and began the process once again. The hacking and cleaving left his sword and armour covered in blood and dirt and salt from the sea, but inside his blood was singing, the true calling of the Ironborn.

Once the men who had come out to stop their advancement were all dead, Dagon made his way back to his ship and in a cold voice ordered the Reachermen ships burnt, and as he sailed on toward the port, the ships of the Reachermen burnt in the background. The chaos and destruction continued in the Arbor, as more men died by the Ironborn hands, justice was being served, and coffers and loot aplenty were taken. Their job done, Dagon ordered his men to set sail from the Arbor, there would be plenty more looting to be done soon.

The process repeated itself on the Shield Islands; the Greenlanders were more prepared this time though, having been warned of the impending attack. Still they were not match for a bloodthirsty horde of Ironborn, and their men died deaths on swords, morning stars, hammers and maces. Dagon himself led the charge that took control of the main keep on the Shield Islands, hacking and slashing his way through the men who stood in his path, bloodying his sword even more, and then when he came face to face with the Lord of the Shield Islands, his sword only needed three thrusts before the man was lying face down in a puddle of his own blood, death by sword. Dagon marched his men through the keep, instructing them to take what they could, to leave behind anything that would be too much of a hindrance to take back to Pyke.

 

* * *

 

**Baelor Breakspear**

Peace was a hard thing to come by, it was even harder to maintain. The proof of that was standing right in front of Baelor and the rest of the small council. Domeric Bolton, the second son of Horras Bolton, and as of now the current Lord of the Dreadfort. Bolton was a tall man with long brown hair and piercing grey eyes, he was also thickly built, and broad shoulders, a warrior if ever Baelor had seen one. After the failed rebellion in the north, which Baelor had always been strongly opposed to, the Boltons had all been executed their lands and incomes given to Daeron Stark’s younger brother Cregan. Domeric Bolton had fled the execution though, fleeing in the dead of the night with six loyal men, forcing their way into White Harbour, and forcing a ship to take them to King’s Landing they had appeared some two weeks past, battered, bruised and angry.

Brynden had engineered the northern rebellion, in the hopes of getting Stark out of the way and killing Aemon Blackfyre and any potential children the boy may have with Barbery Stark. Both had failed, the rebellions in Skagos and the rest of the north had been crushed, Aemon Blackfyre still lived, and now the Iron Throne had the increasing wrath of the North and the Iron Islands, for the attempted killing of Barbery Stark and her unborn child. Sometimes Baelor wondered what would have happened had Brynden and Daeron been different people, perhaps they may have actually been able to achieve some sort of stalemate. But then again he supposed with Bittersteel still alive in Tyrosh, peace would never be achieved.

“My family paid the price for following your orders Lord Brynden, what will we get in return for the folly that cost my father and brother and uncles their lives? How can you repay us, when the Stark has our home and our lands and has given them to his stubborn brother?” Baelor heard Domeric Bolton ask.

Baelor turned to look at Brynden who seemed to be quite tired, as did Baelor’s own father, Daeron the Good seemed to be much more weary and tired since the war with Daemon had ended, and since Baelor’s mother had died, something seemed to have been taken from him. Brynden replied. “You failed to oust Stark from power, your rebellion failed Lord Bolton. As such though, you have proved your loyalty to the Iron Throne and for that you do deserve to be rewarded. Your Grace?”

Baelor saw his father turn his eyes toward Domeric Bolton, and saw a mixture of anger and tiredness in his father’s eyes, though for those who did not know his father well, they would not be able to see the difference. Baelor heard his father sigh once before he spoke. “Yes you do deserve to be rewarded Lord Domeric, I believe your mother was a Darklyn was she not?”

“Yes Your Grace she was.” Domeric Bolton replied.

Baelor’s father sighed once more. “Very well, you shall marry one of Lord Darklyn’s daughters, and I shall award you the Lordship of Lord Harroway’s Town for your efforts to the crown.”

Baelor saw Domeric Bolton bow his head in acceptance, and then watched as he was escorted out of the small council chamber by Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard. Once Domeric was finally out of the room, Baelor heard his father sigh once more. “That man will cause us nothing but pain, I want him watched, Brynden since it was your idea to have this blasted rebellion in the north, and you will ensure that the man and his family are watched.” Baelor’s father said using his most kingly voice, the voice that could make grown make quake in their boots with fear.

It certainly seemed to be working with Baelor’s uncle, for Baelor saw Brynden bow his head looking bashful, as he said. “Of course Your Grace.”

Baelor saw his father nod his head once, and then that issue was dismissed. “What news from the north then?” Daeron the Good asked.

Brynden spoke once more. “Daeron Stark’s wife is with child, as is Barbery Blackfyre.”

Baelor heard the mutterings of the other lords in the small council, but kept his mouth shut. He knew what would be said next, and he wondered what his father would do this time, whether or not his father would take the moral high ground.

“Let them have their children, I will not have my people fight needlessly. So long as the maintain the peace I have no qualms. Jon died foolishly trying to take Moat Cailin; we lost many good men for that ridiculous attempt. We must rebuild relations with the north, if we are to ever have a lasting peace.” Daeron said.

Baelor could see the protest about to form on his uncle’s lips, but before his uncle could voice it his father cut him down. “No Brynden I will not call the Lords of Westeros to war once more, to march north and try and fail to end the Blackfyres. Too much blood has already been shed for this damned throne, peace is essential for making sure that there is no more need for pointless fighting. So long as Daeron wishes to keep peace, and he will, there is no need for us to mobilise our men. Aegor won’t march across the sea unless he is confident he can have Daeron’s support. Now what other issues are there for us to discuss?”

Baelor spoke then. “Dagon Greyjoy has been raiding along the coast of the Reach. Lord Luthor sends a request for help from the Iron Throne. Greyjoy has been plundering, he defeated and killed Lord Redwyne and plundered the wines from the Arbor, he holds the Shield Islands now.”

“Write to Lord Damon, tell him to mobilise his ships, Dagon Greyjoy will wish to try and sail up the Mander if he becomes too daring. We shall need to deal with him before that happens. If it comes to it Baelor you may need to ride out to confront the man.” Baelor heard his father say.

Baelor nodded in response. “Now if that is all my lords, I would ask that you leave and give myself and my son a chance to speak alone for a moment.”

Once the lords of the small council had departed, Baelor saw his father visibly sag in his seat, a tired expression on his face; the effects of ruling truly seemed to be getting to him now.

“You may be ruling sooner than you think Baelor.” Daeron Targaryen said, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Baelor was about to protest when his father raised one slender finger to silence him and continued speaking. “Grand Maester Orthorys tells me I have the wasting sickness, I do not have long left. We must make peace with Daeron Stark before I die though, that is something I must do, to atone for past wrongs, and otherwise Westeros will continue to bleed.”


	14. Blurred Lines

**The Winter Dragon**

Daeron Stark looked at the sleeping form of his youngest child, his daughter Eleana had been born a year ago, looking for all the world like her mother, Daeron’s Arianne. Birthing her had been hard for Arianne, she had laboured for many a long hour for near on three days, before Eleana had come into the world. Daeron had been overjoyed with the bird of his daughter, and yet that joy had quickly turned into worry and horror, as Arianne did not stop bleeding. No matter what Maester Tywin did, his wife would not stop bleeding. His wife who had always been so strong, who for as long as he had known her had never truly cried, had cried and cried then, as the blood kept pouring out of her, the bed had become her final resting place as a mortal.

Daeron had sat beside his wife throughout her last few days; he had sat with her and left the running of the kingdom to his uncle Beron. He had sat with Arianne as she slipped from the mortal world to the ether, and throughout all that time he did not, he could not make himself look at his daughter, their daughter, their Eleana, whose life had been given at the exchange of her mother’s, he simply could not force himself to do that, and not feel any sort of hate for his daughter. He did not want to hate his child, she was his to protect. He could still remember Arianne as she had taken a promise from him, a promise that haunted him still.

_Her lips were chapped, her skin pale, and yet Arianne Stark Queen of Winter refused to die just yet, to Daeron it seemed as if she had one last thing to say. He leaned forward to listen to her speak as she had opened her mouth. “Daeron,” he heard his wife- the love of his life- say. “Don’t go cold my love, look after our children. Promise me you’ll make sure they grow up to be good and honourable Daeron my love, treasure them, Aegor, Daena and our little Eleana, treasure them Daeron my love. You must promise me that.”_

_“Of course I will Arianne, we both will, you’ll make it through my love, you will, you can’t die. Don’t you dare die Arianne.” He had whispered to her._

_His wife had smiled then, a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Oh my love, you and I both know I won’t make it. It would be a lie to say I would make it through this, and I do know how much you hate to lie my love. Promise me you won’t become cold, you can’t become cold my love. You’re too warm for that, and please don’t become unhappy simply because I am not here. Please, find happiness once I am gone my love, please you must not become cold.”_

_“I promise my love, but no one will hold my heart like you do, you will always be the one, Arianne.” Daeron had said then._

_His wife had had one more thing to say before she had gone from this world. “My love,” she had said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know of the promise you made to your brother, but don’t let that consume you. Your family is alive here, don’t let the dead dictate to you my love.”_

_Daeron had stayed silent, not sure what to say to that, his wife had died with a smile on her lips, and Daeron Stark, the Winter Dragon, the King of Winter had wept and wept._

“She’s not going anywhere Your Grace.” Daeron startled at the sound of Dacey’s voice.

Dacey Stark, his cousin, his Uncle Beron’s daughter, had been such a help in the months that had passed since his Arianne had died. She had helped him with Daena, he had grown up with a sister, but he had always been too busy either playing with swords or away in King’s Landing to truly grow up with Velena. He had had no idea how to deal with a girl who had just lost her mother, and whose brother had become much more withdrawn and solemn and no longer wished to play with her Dacey had. His cousin had taken Daena under her wing, had showed her some things that Daeron knew that Arianne would have laughed about, he was slowly coming to lean on her quite heavily when it came to his eldest daughter, and to a certain extent Aegor as well.  Not to mention that she was quite beautiful this cousin of his, but he pushed that thought down, as he so often did.

“I know Dacey, I just, I just wanted to see how she was doing.” Daeron replied, trying to keep his voice even, after his wife had died he’d hardly spent time with his youngest child, he’d submerged himself in making sure that his kingdom was repaired and healed after the failed Bolton Rebellion, he had left the more nitty gritty details of her well being to the nursemaid that he had hired from the nearby village. It was only after the castle and the port had been fully completed in record time that he had come too, with the guilty realisation that in his grief he had completely ignored his children, Daena had Dacey, Aegor had had no one, and Eleana, well he had not even visited his youngest daughter in the nursery, had seen no need to, and now he was trying to make up for that as much as possible.

“Well as you can see she is doing just fine, now what about you Daeron? How are you doing?” Dacey asked concern evident in his voice.

Daeron sighed, what with trying to keep his kingdom together, and rebuild after the destruction that the Bolton rebellion had brought with it, and trying to keep Edwyle from killing every single Maester in the north, and with trying to bring Aegor back from whatever shell he had put himself in, Daeron did not know whether he was alright, whether he would ever truly be alright, if he didn’t have Dacey there to help him. “I do not know Dacey, truly I do not know.”

He heard Dacey walk up to him, felt her arms wrap around him, and breathed in the smell of her, the smell of the Wolfswood the smell of the north, and he found his heartbeat speeding up. “Well perhaps I can help you feel better then Your Grace?” He heard her whisper into his ear, and he felt a shiver of anticipation shoot up him.

“What are you suggesting Dacey?” Daeron asked her, turning round so that he could face her.

“What I am suggesting Your Grace is that you come with me back to your chambers, and we can go about making you feel better.” Dacey said, a slightly seductive smile gracing her lips then.

Daeron felt his heart rate quicken. Dacey kissed him on the lips then and pulled him by the hand toward his chambers, nodding to Rickard Karstark of the Winter’s Guard who remained guarding the nursery and then with her free hand Daeron saw Dacey push the door to his chambers open and soon they were both on the bed kissing as if their lives depended on it, they did he supposed. That afternoon Daeron did not spend with his council listening to how the North was fairing in the aftermath of the rebuilding that had begun, nor did he spend it fretting about how to keep his cousin from alienating the citadel, he spent it making love with the woman who was quickly filling a hole in his heart.

\------------------------

Council was in session, Daeron often dreaded these meetings especially when the Bolton rebellion had been in its formative stages, when they had argued and argued over what the cause of said rebellion could have been, Horras Bolton had always been mad, Daeron remembered his father’s stories of the man, the Boltons themselves had always been a treacherous house, known for their subservience which always came at a cost. Daeron’s bastard cousin Ser Jon Waters’ attack on Moat Cailin during the rebellion had made it crystal clear in Daeron’s mind who was behind the attack and the rebellion, that kinslaying bastard Bloodraven. That man had always seemed to be very slimy when they had been growing up in King’s Landing, and it seemed he had proven it once more.

After the Bolton Rebellion had been crushed and that coward Domeric had fled south, there had been much work that needed to be done. Steffon Cassel had served Daeron loyally during the rebellion and had been rewarded with lordship over Stony Shore, for Daeron knew that should that fool Bloodraven wish to cause more disturbances in the north he would more than likely send pirates or maybe even the Lannisters up that way, and so a port and a castle had been built in the Stony Shore and Steffon and Daeron’s sister had been given it for them and theirs to hold for the rest of time.

For their loyalty to Winterfell, Daeron had had a port constructed on the Saltspear between the lands belonging to House Dustin and the rebels in House Ryswell, the port was coming along nicely, and the Dustins were evermore grateful to Winterfell, the Ryswell’s not so much, but then again, Daeron thought they should not have rebelled with Bolton.

“Your Grace,” Daeron heard his brother Theon, Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard say.

“Yes Lord Commander, you were saying? Daeron asked.

Theon looked at him for a moment before saying. “Asphell Wull, I believe is ready to fill the vacancy left by Dorren Umber. The man is young and is a fine swordsman and will be most dedicated to your and the prince and princesses protection.”

Daeron nodded, and said “Well Lord Commander if you believe he is ready, then he is ready. The ceremony shall take place in a moon’s time, have the boy be ready.”

Daeron saw his brother nod, and then he asked. “What else is up for discussion today?”

“There is Your Grace.” Jonnel Manderly, the Lord of White Harbour said.

 Daeron looked at the man, Manderly went on. “I have good news to report from our envoys who went to Bravos, Myr and Pentos.”

Daeron waited for the man to continue speaking. Manderly went on. “All three were successful in achieving trading deals with the cities that they went to. Bravos have agreed to trade glass in exchange for the grain we can give them. Myr has agreed to trade carpets and lace with us in exchange for hides, for it is said that winter is coming to Myr just as quickly as spring approaches us here in Westeros. Pentos has agreed to trade spices with us for wool. Again for the approaching winter that comes to Essos.”

Daeron nodded. “That is fabulous news Lord Jonnel, and when do they plan on beginning their trading with us?”

Lord Manderly paused for a moment and then said “Within the next moon Your Grace.”

Daeron nodded. “Good I want ships to be ready to sail from White Harbour and from Pyke and from the Stony Shore to these three cities within two weeks. Maester Tywin send ravens to Lord Steffon and Lord Dagon to inform them about these developments. Lord Beron, I want you to prepare the ships at White Harbour, and sail with them to ensure that all goes smoothly.”

“It shall be done Your Grace.” Daeron heard both men say.

“Now is there anything more of import that must needs be discussed?” Daeron asked.

“There is the issue with the Citadel Your Grace.” Daeron heard his uncle Beron say.

Daeron sighed. “Do they still refuse to acknowledge Maester Tywin as our Grand Maester?” he asked trying to keep the irritation out of his voice and only partially succeeding.

“They do Your Grace. The Conclave insists that only they can choose a grand maester, and the only grand maester they recognise is the grand maester who serves in the south.” Beron Stark replied.

Daeron sighed once more. “Is there no way in which we can make them see reason?” he asked.

Maester Tywin who had been the maester in Winterfell for as long as Daeron could remember gave a wry chuckle then and said. “Unless you are willing to give up the crown Your Grace, which I know will not happen, then alas I am afraid that there may be no way short of allowing Lord Edwyle to do as he wants, to convince the Conclave of the position you have bestowed upon me.”

Daeron ran his hands through his hair and then said. “We shall leave it for now; I will not have Edwyle string up all the maesters in the north simply because he is angry. If I do, then the whole of the citadel will never trust us with anything, and the south will think us more barbaric than they already do.” He saw the other lords of the council nod their heads in acceptance. “What else is there?”

Ethan Glover, the new Lord of Deepwood Motte and the man responsible with gathering information for Daeron spoke then. “I have received reports that there is a man who works within Winterfell’s walls who communicates with those in King’s Landing, reporting our every move and every action. It is said that he works for the gatemen and that a package will be delivered to his Grace King Aemon, the package will be laced with poison.”

Daeron sighed once more and said “Have the guards question each and every gateman, I want to know who it is who is betraying their people, use whatever methods are necessary to get the answers we need, and make sure not a word of this reaches Aemon or Barbery. They have enough trouble looking after baby Aegon.”

Glover nodded his acceptance. “If there are nothing else my lords, I confess that I feel quite tired, till next time.”

The Lords of his small council got up and bowed to him before they left, Theon walked and stood slightly further down from the throne where Daeron had sat during the council meeting. Their uncle Beron lingered in the hall though. “Uncle, is something amiss?” Daeron asked.

“Not anything to worry about Your Grace,” Beron Stark said, and then he hesitated and said. “I cannot keep doing this Daeron.”

“Doing what Uncle?” Daeron asked confused.

“I cannot serve as both High Steward and High Admiral, it is not that I am not capable it is just that I spend so much time away from my family, and I feel as if I am never doing anything but trying to keep the squabbles of the minor lords from escalating. I wish to go home Daeron, truly I do.” Beron Stark said.

Daeron was quite surprised by the words his uncle spoke. His uncle had always been unflinching in his duty, first to Daeron’s father and then to Daeron himself, he would never have thought his uncle would confess to feeling tired, it just didn’t seem to be in his nature. Aloud he said. “Uncle, truly I did not think I was burdening you. If so I am truly sorry. If it is your wish to simply be High Admiral and return home, then by all means do so, and know you have my fully support. I only named you High Steward because I did not know of anyone else who could be as capable of you to fulfil the role that uncle Artos had held.”

“Edwyle would do just as well, if not better than I did.” Beron said.

Daeron snorted, but his uncle said. “Truly Daeron, I know that Edwyle is angry and hurt and that some of the things he says can be unworthy of a highborn lord, but he has been through hell, we all have. Giving him the position of High Steward will give him an outlet to turn his anger and rage into something more calming and something that can be used to benefit the north, he is a smart lad, you know that Daeron. Name him your High Steward and you will have his undying loyalty.”

Daeron thought for a moment and then said “I will think on what you have said.”

Beron Stark nodded, but before he left he turned round and looking Daeron squarely in the eyes said “And please decided what it is you want from my daughter before you ruin what you have with her, for the both of you.”

The next day it was formally announced that Beron Stark had resigned the post of High Steward of the North but would stay on as High Admiral of the Narrow Sea, and that Edwyle Stark youngest son of Artos Stark would become High Steward of the north. Over the next few months, talks were held and many ravens flew from Winterfell to the Citadel and back, finally the citadel and the conclave caved in and formally recognised Maester Tywin as the Grand Maester of the North and the Iron Islands, and that a conclave would be held to decide who the next Grand Maester would be when Maester Tywin’s day came.

\------------------------

Daeron and Dacey are wed in front of the heart tree in Winterfell’s Godswood in the 207th Year after Aegon the Conqueror’s landing; they are wed with winter breaking and spring on the horizon, with snow still on the ground. Dacey Stark looks every inch a queen, with her long flowing brown hair, to Daeron she looks like a vision of the maiden come to life. The whole of the northern and Ironborn lords and their ladies and families came in attendance to witness the second marriage of their king and to see his new queen.

Daeron asked Dacey to marry him after much deliberation on his part; he had had to think of all the reasons why he wished to marry Dacey. She had been his rock throughout all the chaos that had come after his Arianne’s death, and he had seen her with his children, she had been the one to draw Aegor out of his shell, the one to get his son to express his feelings to get his son to cry, she had been there for little Daena- who was quickly growing into a lovely young lady right before his eyes, she was the one who looked after Eleana, was there when his youngest child took her first steps and said her first words. Daeron had quickly come to realise that without her there to be his rock, he would have fallen apart after Arianne had died, he had come to depend on her so much, he felt very strongly for her as well, and felt an ache when she was not with him, he still loved Arianne of course, some part of him always would, but he thought it for the best if he married Dacey, his children needed a mother if nothing else.

And so he had asked his uncle Beron, for permission to wed the man’s youngest daughter, and his uncle had smiled wanly at him and given him permission to. When Daeron removes the cloak from Dacey’s shoulders and places the grey and green cloak of House Stark of Winterfell on her shoulders and kisses her, he feels something he has not felt for a long time, hope.

A year to the day of their marriage, Dacey gives birth to triplets, Jorah who has Daeron’s violet eyes and Daeron’s mother’s silver hair, Lyanna who has her father and mother’s dark brown hair and has her mother’s grey eyes and long face, Brandon who looks exactly like Daeron’s father had with his long face, brown hair and grey eyes. Winterfell and the north celebrate the births of their King and Queen’s children, and Aegor and Daena and Eleana are fascinated by their new siblings and Aegor promises Daeron and Dacey that he will look after them, he promises he will be their big brother and do all that entails.

A year later just as the Great Spring Sickness begins to envelop everywhere south of the neck, Daeron, Aemon, Aegor and their companions coming back from having watched Daeron execute a deserter from the Night’s Watch, find eight direwolf puppies suckling from their mother’s teats. The mother is dead but the pups are still alive, and after much pleading from Aegor, Daeron acquiesces and allows his son to take the pups back to Winterfell where they are quickly picked up by his children, Aegor names his black direwolf Serron, Daena names her grey direwolf Arry, Eleana names hers Boo, and Jorah, Lyanna and Brandon young as they are simply hold onto three direwolves, Jorah a dark grey direwolf, Lyanna a pure white direwolf, Brandon a silver direwolf with golden swirls, the two remaining direwolves are kept with their brothers and sisters but Daeron feels as if this is a sign from the Old Gods, for more children and more times of plenty, he surely hopes so.

* * *

 

**Aemon Reyne**

 Aemon Reyne, Lord of Castamere read the letter that had come from King’s Landing and felt the anger boils up inside of him once more.  Damon Lannister, the old craven, he who had abandoned his true king was calling the banners to fight for Daeron the Falseborn in order to deal with the Ironborn who were sailing up the Mander toward Highgarden. According to the letter, Lord Tyrell had asked the King for assistance, and the King had written to Damon Lannister to send aid, Aemon snorted at that word, help ha, as if the Falseborn could expect any real help from the Westerlands. Damon Lannister was a craven, but Aemon knew the man was still very bitter about the situation the Falseborn had put him in during the Blackfyre Rebellion when the man had held Lannister’s two sons Tybolt and Gerion hostage.

“You look grim brother, what on earth is the matter?” Aemon heard his brother the famed Ser Robb Reyne asks.

Aemon merely looked up at his brother and said. “They Grey Lion wants us to come to the Rock; we are to be fighting Ironborn it would seem. For the Falseborn is too much of a weakling to do his own fighting.”

Aemon heard his brother snort and then say. “Of course he does. The Grey Lion is no longer Grey, old age has made the man a craven and a weakling himself. He claims to never have forgiven the Falseborn for keeping his sons hostage during the rebellion, and yet now he does the man’s bidding like some whipped cur. Despicable, the Young Dragon would be ashamed of what his friend has become.”

Aemon sighed. “The Young Dragon would despair of what his kingdom has become. His nephew married a Dornish snake, his nephew allowed that same snake to whisper filth into his ear, to give the snakes that made Westeros bleed through deceit and treachery more power and influence at court. Westeros was much better during the days of the Dragonbane and the Young Dragon I tell you.  But of course we cannot risk disobeying the man’s order, we shall need to raise the levies and march.”

Aemon saw his brother nod, but knew that somewhere deep down inside that his brother would rather be marching for King’s Landing and not the Reach.

As it turned out they did not have to even march for Casterly Rock, for not a moon after they had begun preparing to march for the Rock, they received a raven from the Rock writ in the Grey Lion’s own hand that informed them that the Ironborn had withdrawn from the Reach and had sailed back for Pyke, taking with them lots of loot and plunder from the Shield Islands and from the Arbor. Daeron the Falseborn had apparently written to Lannister and told him that his levies were no longer required.

The next two years passed by very quickly for Aemon, there was a tourney held in Lannisport which was attended by all the Westerlords in order to celebrate the birth of a son to Ser Tybolt the heir to the Rock. Aemon did not know what to truly think of Ser Tybolt, the man seemed to be a skilled swordsman and jouster, and yet it seemed that his captivity in King’s Landing had made him at turns both jovial and serious, he was nothing like his brother Gerion who was completely serious, and also a much better swordsman than Tybolt, Aemon did suspect that if another war broke out between the red and black dragons, he would be able to convince this generation of Lannisters to fight for the black dragon. Aemon also had to bury his wife Elyn Tarbeck during this period, they had been married since they were fourteen and yet his wife had never been able to give him a living child, in total they had had seven stillbirths and one miscarriage, the last stillbirth was the one that killed Elyn, a baby boy as well with a rump of auburn hair on his head. Each stillbirth had hurt something inside of Aemon, whether it was his pride, or seeing his wife so despondent he knew not, he loved his wife, but he knew the importance of having a male heir. With his wife dead and with no sons of his own body, and having no desire to marrying again, Aemon named his brother Robb his heir, and knew that the succession would be secure, his brother had three sons of his own the eldest Daemon was thirteen, the youngest Viserys was five. The next event that happened during this two year period was the death of Prince Baelor Breakspear at the Tourney of Ashford as a result of a tourney mishap during a trial of seven where the man’s brother Maekar was the man who swung the killing blow.

Aemon had felt like dancing for joy when he had heard the news of the prince’s death. Breakspear was the one person who could truly have prevented the Blackfyres from taking their rightful throne, with him dead and his sons still quite young, there was hope left for the rightful kings to take their throne. Revenge would be on the cards.

Then the Great Spring Sickness hit, and Damon Lannister died, and his son Tybolt became Lord of Casterly Rock and Aemon began to sense a chance to cause more headaches for the Targaryens, something that was emphasised when news came that Daeron the Falseborn had fallen ill, then the illness hit Aemon and his plans flew out the window.

Lying on his death bed Aemon brought his brother in closer and whispered into his ear. “Bring back the way of the warrior brother, right the wrong, and avenge the Young Dragon.” Saying those words, Aemon Reyne died, another victim to the Great Spring Sickness.


	15. Shadow Of The Day

**Dunk**

They set out from Starfall one hot spring day in the 209th Year after Aegon’s Landing, Ser Duncan from Fleebottom and his squire Prince Aegon Targaryen, otherwise known as Egg. They had spent the better part of the last year wandering around Dorne, serving various lords and knights, and on occasion competing in the regular competitions that the Dornish hosted. Their last two months of service had been with Lord Ullor Dayne, a man in his forties, whose brother Ser Ullrick Dayne was the famed Sword of the Morning.  Dunk had served the time as Lord Ullor’s sworn sword, travelling with him as the man went and visited the various holdings that made up his lordship, and even on one occasion to a visit to Sunspear to see the ruling Prince of Dorne Maron Martell and his wife the famous Princess Daenaerys Martell nee Targaryen. That had been a very intriguing experience for Dunk, he had served with Ser Arlan of Pennytree for many a year, and the man had fought during the Blackfyre rebellion, which if the rumour held true the pretender Daemon Blackfyre had fought to win the hand of his sister Daenaerys.

Whilst Daenaerys was certainly very beautiful, Dunk could not truly fathom why one would fight a war for her hand, when she seemed perfectly happy with her husband and their children. Dunk knew that Egg had simply been interested in speaking with his great aunt, because it meant that he would not have to spend a single more day living in the harsh conditions that they had been living in beforehand- not that Lord Ullor was neglectful of their upkeep, but the luxuries in Sunspear were much better than those provided in Starfall- . It was in Sunspear that they learnt of the disease that the maesters were now calling the Great Spring Sickness, and how it had claimed the lives of many thousands of people, including Egg’s grandfather and cousins. Egg had of course been devastated by that news, and had been worried about his family both in King’s Landing and in Summerhall. The boy had wanted to leave for King’s Landing straight away in order to make sure that his family were fine, but Prince Maron had simply said that he had received orders from Lord Bloodraven- the new hand of the king- that should he come across Dunk and Egg they were not to be allowed to leave Dorne until the disease had been dealt with.

That had been a month ago, and when word had come to Lord Ullor at Starfall from his liege lord informing him that the Great Spring Sickness had passed, the old lord had told Dunk that it was safe for him to head north, and here they were riding through the Boneway Pass through the scorching heat of Dorne. He would be sad to leave Dorne, Dunk thought, their food may be too spicy for his liking and the heat maybe nigh insufferable, but the Dornish were good people, fiery and passionate, and their women, well their women were on a whole new level. Dunk had thought that perhaps in Dorne he would be able to find the puppeteer Tanselle, she had been a very lovely girl and he had much enjoyed her company at Ashford, but alas they had been in Dorn for five moons and still he had not found her, perhaps nothing was meant to become of it then.

Dunk’s attention was brought back to the present when he heard the sound of a horse whickering nervously. “For peat’s sake Egg, don’t pull so hard on the reigns you will scare the horse and then we’ll all be in trouble then.” Dunk scolded his squire.

“I didn’t mean to Ser, honest, it’s just that you were riding so slowly I thought I’d ride faster and go slightly ahead.” Egg replied, the boy’s hair was starting to grow back again, Dunk could see the silver streaks appearing, and they’d need to shave his head once more.

“Well if you want me to ride faster, then you need only say Egg. Don’t go riding off on your own now, we’re nearly in the Reach and there is trouble brewing here.” Dunk said.

“Yes Ser.” Egg replied dejectedly.

Dunk sighed and dug his heels into the horse making it go slightly faster so that it could increase in speed and catch up with Egg’s horse. They rode for three more days in a north westerly direction until they came to the foot of great hill, deciding that they would go and speak with the Lord of the castle that was situated at the top of the hill in the morning, Dunk stopped his horse and dismounted, helping Egg dismount as well, they tethered their horses to a nearby tree and began building a fire with which they could cook their food.

Once that was done, Dunk sat down on a patch of grass and looked around at the land and felt awed by what he saw.  Growing up in Fleebottom he had heard stories of the lands beyond King’s Landing, but not once in his life did he think he’d ever get to see them. Now he had seen Dorne with its deserts and humid weather, and here he was in the Reach, which was just as colourful and beautiful as Egg had claimed it would be. Even here at the foot of this great hill where they were camped, there were many a colourful flower and the sound of life and activity seemed to buzz through the forest where they were. It seemed rather peaceful to Dunk, completely different to the life he had lived growing up in the slums of King’s Landing, much more relaxed.

“What’s the banner on the top of that castle there Ser?” Dunk heard Egg ask.

Dunk titled his head up and squinted up at the banner flying tall and proud at the top of the hill. “A chequy lion, green and gold rampant on a field of white. Why lad?”

Dunk turned and found his squire’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong lad?”

“This castle belongs to House Osgrey, we’re in their lands.” Egg replied his voice quiet as a whisper.

Dunk was not sure what had gotten Egg so tense, but whatever it was it clearly had to do with House Osgrey, so he asked. “What’s wrong with House Osgrey lad?”

“They sided with Daemon Blackfyre during the first Blackfyre rebellion and Ser Eustace Osgrey’s son Addam escaped with Aemon Blackfyre to the north when the rebellion was crushed. The only reason why both their heads weren’t taken off by my grandfather was because of a treaty that my grandfather sent Bloodraven and my father to negotiate with Daeron Stark in the north. House Osgrey are traitors.” Egg snarled.

Dunk sighed. “That was thirteen years ago lad, times have changed since then. The rebels who were willing to bend the knee swore themselves back into the King’s peace, and the Blackfyres rot across the narrow sea or in the north. And besides they won’t know who we are other than a simple hedge knight and his squire. And you will not say anything to change that.”

Dunk could see that Egg was about to protest and so before he could; he spoke up again and said. “Your father would not appreciate nor would he thank you for getting yourself into danger, simply because of something that happened thirteen years ago. He would want you to learn how to be a good man and put it all behind you and move on, just as the kingdom and time has okay. You are not to say anything that will give House Osgrey any reason to suspect who you might be, we shall need to shave your head before we go and pledge ourselves to their service on the morrow.”

Egg cast his eyes down then and said in a defeated voice. “Very well ser.”

“Good,” Dunk replied. “Now if you are done eating, put the fire out and go to bed, we shall rise early tomorrow.” With that he made to go to their tent to sleep. As he got into the tent and pulled the furs around him, he sighed internally it was going to be a very long day tomorrow, he merely hoped Egg could keep his mouth shut, otherwise they may very well find themselves in a spot of bother.

The next day they broke their fast early, just as the sun was rising. A feast it was not- some bread and water- but it was enough to keep them going for that day’s trek up the hill. Once they were done eating, Dunk got out his shears from his pack, and began clipping away the thin strands of silvery hair that had begun to appear on Egg’s head. The first time they had had to do this had been just after the Ashford Tourney when they had left Ashford and were heading to Dorne, Egg’s hair had been growing back slowly as they had left Ashford, to the point where you would have to have been a complete fool not to recognise Egg as either a Targaryen or a Blackfyre, and as such the need had arisen for his hair to go. Egg had grumbled and grumbled all the while, and eventually Dunk had had to tell him that either he stop grumbling or he would be clouted on the ear. Since that first time, they had only had to shear Egg’s hair off twice more, once when they entered the Boneway Pass, and the other when they went to Skyreach.

With that done, they began the long climb up the hill, thankfully there was a path leading up the side of the hill, which made it easier for them to take their horses up the hill. After what seemed like an age, they reached the castle gates, and sure enough as Dunk looked up once more, there on the banner flying high and proud was a chequy lion green and gold, rampant on a field of white.

“Who goes there?” came a deep voice from the other side of the gate.

This was always the part that Dunk dreaded, how to get them into the castle without giving away Egg’s identity. Swallowing deeply, he said in as confident a tone as he could muster. “Ser Duncan the Tall and my squire Egg. We come to pledge our swords in service to Ser Eustace Osgrey the knight of Standfast.”

There was a long moment of silence in which Dunk feared that perhaps they had been found out, but then came the deep voice again. “Ser Eustace welcomes you Standfast, please do enter.” And with that the gates entered and Dunk breathed a silent sigh of relief. As he spurred his horse on through the gates, he saw out the corner of his eye Egg looking up at the banner flying in air with a unreadable expression on his face, Dunk could only hope that the boy would not do anything stupid whilst they were here.

“If you wish Ser Duncan, I can have Harrold here take you and your squire’s horses and have them fed and rested in the stables.” A man with greying hair and brown eyes wearing the livery of House Osgrey said.

Dunk pondered this for a moment before saying. “That would be most useful, thank you kind sir.” And with that he nodded to Egg and they both dismounted from their horses, and gave them to the stableboy Harrold, who seemed to be in his late teens.

The old man then spoke once more. “If you follow me, I will take you to the great hall. Ser Eustace is expecting you.”

Dunk merely nodded and with Egg walking beside him, they followed the old man toward the great hall. As they walked toward the hall, Dunk took a moment to look around the castle- a towerhouse really- and he saw that most of the courtyard was made up of old and broken stone, that was badly in need of repair, it seemed just judging by the state of the courtyard that the Osgreys seemed to have suffered very badly for siding with the black dragon.

Eventually, they came to the Great Hall- if it could be called that- it was lined with tapestries depicting scenes from ages past- a little lion fighting off a golden lion, a chequy lion marrying a red lion and on and on- and there sat on a throne of branches and wood, sat Ser Eustace Osgrey. A broad shouldered and barrel chested man, Dunk estimated that Ser Eustace was in his late forties, the scars of battles past showed clearly on his face. Something he had once heard Ser Arlan say came back to him then _“The Osgreys have more pride than sense, once a great house, they were felled by Maegor the Cruel during the Faith militant uprising and were stripped of one of their most valuable castles. Ser Eustace is the most prideful of the bunch.”_

“And who might you be?” Ser Eustace said loudly, his voice echoing in the empty hall.

Dunk walked forward along with Egg and stopped before the steps leading up to Ser Eustace’s throne and bowed before it. Speaking softly Dunk said “I am Ser Duncan the Tall and this is my squire Egg, my lord.”

“And what do you wish from me and mine Ser Duncan?” Ser Eustace asked.

“If you would have my squire and I my lord, we would pledge ourselves to your service for as long as you shall have us.” Dunk replied as confident as he could be.

There was a moment of silence, and then Ser Eustace snorted and said. “It has been many a year since anyone has come to swear themselves to the service of House Osgrey. The last person who did ran away when the Blackfyre rebellion started. Are you a hedge knight of honour Ser Duncan, or will you flee at the next best opportunity?”

Dunk was silent for a moment as he considered what Ser Eustace had said, before he replied. “I am a knight of honour my lord. I will not flee, I will serve you as long as you will have me and my squire my lord and will do whatever it is that you ask of me.”

“Spoken like a true hedge knight. Bah, very well then. Ser Duncan you and your squire may join my service. But know this, I do not accept betrayal.” Ser Eustace said.

And on that ominous note, Ser Duncan the Tall and Egg entered into the service of Ser Eustace Osgrey.

Dunk’s duties in the service of Ser Eustace were nothing of note, they included helping to train some of the boys from the nearby villages in order to make sure that they were of an acceptable standard to either defend their village or to join the household guard, occasionally sparring with Ser Eustace himself- these were the times Dunk looked forward to, old he may be, but there was still some of the fine knight who had fought at Redgrass in Ser Eustace- and also making sure Egg did nothing to give them away.

One day during their stay at Standfast, Ser Eustace’s son Lord Addam Osgrey and his wife Lady Rohanne Osgrey nee Webber visited Ser Eustace. Addam Osgrey had served as a squire for Aswell Peake during the Blackfyre rebellion, and had seen his master cut down before his very eyes and had fled with Aemon Blackfyre and several others to the north- or so Dunk was told by Egg-   the man was tall and muscular like his father, and also had a mop of auburn hair and some light stubble, his wife Lady Rohanne was a fair lady, with red hair, a beauty if Dunk had ever seen one.

As Dunk watched father and son greet each other, it was if some part of Ser Eustace came alive again, gone was the dull and bitter old man, replaced by a man who seemed many years younger and fuller of life and joy than Dunk had ever seen in him.

“Ah Addam, Rohanne, it has been too long.” Dunk heard Ser Eustace say. “Come, come. You must be tired from your journey, come rest for now we shall have a meal to celebrate your return.”

Dunk watched as Ser Eustace led his son and his good daughter into the keep, and simply marvelled at the fact that in a few short minutes since his son’s arrival the man’s attitude had completely changed. Beside him Egg seemed to be grumbling. “What was that lad?” Dunk asked quietly.

“I do not like this Dunk, I don’t like this at all.” Egg replied,

Dunk sighed. “What don’t you like lad?”

But Egg did not deign to reply and so Dunk let it go, for the time being.

Over the next few weeks Dunk had the chance to watch Addam Osgrey from a far, and from what he saw the man seemed to be a more than capable swordsman, he managed to beat several of the household knights and men at arms with relative ease, and Dunk found himself itching to fight him, though of course being a lowly hedge knight, he could not truly do so, nor would he likely be allowed to do so if he asked. There is certain cockiness to the man as well, that is something Dunk can see even from the distance with which he observes Lord Addam, a certain sureness of himself that seems to be lacking in other minor lordlings that Dunk has come across.

Lady Rohanne, is as beautiful and charming as Dunk first thought she would be, he has only spoken with her once, a rather mundane conversation about the weather, and even then Dunk felt tongue tied and undeserving of being in her presence. It did not help that afterward Egg mercilessly picked on him for it, the boy had got a good clouting afterward though.

Dunk is in the midst of these thoughts, when he hears a small cough. Turning round he is surprised to see Lady Rohanne standing behind him, her red hair tied up in a elaborate braid.

“He’s a good swordsman isn’t he?” Lady Rohanne says.

“My lady?” Dunk stammers in response.

“My husband, he’s a good swordsman wouldn’t you say Ser Duncan?” Lady Rohanne says once again.

“Yes my lady, one of the best that I’ve seen.” Dunk replies.

Lady Rohanne moves closer toward him, so that their chests are nearly touching, and Dunk swallows nervously.

“Where’s your squire Ser Duncan?” Lady Rohanne asks.

Dunk swallows nervously once more. “My lady?”

“Where’s your squire Ser Duncan, the bald boy called Egg?”

“He’s out playing with some of the village boys my lady. Why do you ask?” Dunk says beginning to grow more and more nervous, the closer Lady Rohanne gets, he can almost feel her breath on his skin.

“Because he left his ring on the ground near the great hall, and one of my servants picked up and gave it to me.” She holds up a ring with a three headed dragon on it, and Dunk could swear out loud. “This is his ring is it not Ser Duncan?”

Dunk could merely nod, silently cursing himself and Egg for not being more careful.

Lady Rohanne smiles then. “My, my, what would my goodfather do if he found out he had a prince of the blood within his own castle? He’d likely hold the boy ransom until Aemon Blackfyre was strong enough to march south again.”

“My lady...” Dunk begins

“However, if he does not know that there ever was a dragon in his midst, and that you and Egg needed to leave for some reason, then I suppose we could call it fair game. Of course I would like something in return for doing this little service for you.” She says.

“My lady?” Dunk replies.

“A kiss good Ser, a kiss on the lips now, and you and the prince can leave without another word. And I shall whisper in my husband’s ear about why you need to leave.” Lady Rohanne says slyly.

Dunk swallows, and then acquiesces.

Lady Rohanne smiles, and stands on her tiptoes, and as quick as a flash her lips are on Dunk’s and then they are gone. “You must leave by sunset tonight, otherwise my husband and his father will know the truth. They are already growing suspicious.”

Dunk nods, and walks away his head spinning.

* * *

 

Three years later and Dunk can still remember the fear he felt when he spoke with Lady Rohanne Webber. The fact that the lady had figured out whom they were, who Egg actually was had terrified him. He had taken her advice to heart and the minute he had left the lady had gone to find Egg, had grabbed his squire and had told him to pack up straight away. Egg had been confused as to why they were suddenly upping and leaving, but Dunk did not have enough time to explain, with no indication of whether or not Lady Rohanne would stick to her promise. Ser Eustace had come to find him after they had had their afternoon meal and had told him that his services were no longer required and that he and Egg were free to depart, and breathing a sigh of relief Dunk had saddled Moondancer and the horse that Egg had been given and they had ridden off as if the stranger himself was chasing them.

The past three years since serving at Standfast had been peaceful, if not a little short of work, with peace ruling the lands under the strict guidance of Bloodraven, there was very little work for a hedge knight and his squire- even if said squire was a prince of the blood- though of course with Aemon Blackfyre still being an ever present threat in the north, there was still a feeling that tensions could run high in the kingdoms, and Dunk did not wish to risk his or Egg’s neck.  They had spent the past three years flitting between work, serving for one minor lord or the other, and had at one point served as the guardians for the township of the Stoney Sept which had been plagued by bandits and robbers, Dunk had fought a particularly vicious battle with some fool calling himself the High Sparrow, that had ended with the Sparrow dead, impaled on Dunk’s sword, his followers fled to different corners of the Riverlands.

The sound of riders, disturbed Dunk’s thoughts.  “Move into the bush over there lad, we can’t be too careful.” Dunk said, especially after Standfast. Thankfully for once the lad was compliant and they managed to move into the bushes without too much incident before the riders came past.

 _The first riders galloped past within moments; two young lordlings mounted on a pair of coursers. The one on the bay wore an open-faced helm of gilded steel with three tall feathered plumes: one white, one red, one gold. Matching plumes adorned his horse's crinet. The black stallion beside him was barded in blue and gold. His trappings rippled with the wind of his passage as he thundered past. Side by side the riders streaked on by, whooping and laughing, their long cloaks streaming behind._  
  
A third lord followed more sedately, at the head of a long column. There were two dozen in the party, grooms and cooks and serving men, all to attend three knights, plus men-at-arms and mounted crossbowmen, and a dozen drays heavy-laden with their armor, tents, and provisions. Slung from the lord's saddle was his shield, dark orange and charged with three black castles.  
  
Dunk knew those arms, but from where? The lord who bore them was an older man, sour-mouthed and saturnine, with a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard. He might have been at Ashford Meadow, Dunk thought. Or maybe we served at his castle when I was squiring for Ser Arlan. The old hedge knight had done service at so many different keeps and castles through the years that Dunk could not recall the half of them.  
  
The lord reined up abruptly, scowling at the thornbush. "You. In the bush. Show yourself." Behind him, two crossbowmen slipped quarrels into the notch. The rest continued on their way.  
  
Dunk stepped through the tall grass, his shield upon his arm, his right hand resting on the pommel of his longsword. His face was a red-brown mask from the dust the horses had kicked up, and he was naked from the waist up. He looked a scruffy sight, he knew, though it was like to be the size of him that gave the other pause. "We want no quarrel, m'lord. There's only the two of us, me and my squire." He beckoned Egg forward.  
  
"Squire? Do you claim to be a knight?"  
  
Dunk did not like the way the man was looking at him. Those eyes could flay a man. It seemed prudent to remove his hand from his sword. "I am a hedge knight, seeking service."  
  
"Every robber knight I've ever hanged has said the same. Your device may be prophetic, ser ... if ser you are. A gallows and a hanged man. These are your arms?"  
  
"No, m'lord. I need to have the shield repainted."  
  
"Why? Did you rob it off a corpse?"  
  
"I bought it, for good coin." Three castles, black on orange . . . where have I seen those before? "I am no robber."  
  
The lord's eyes were chips of flint. "How did you come by that scar upon your cheek? A cut from a whip?"  
  
"A dagger. Though my face is none of your concern, milord."  
  
"I'll be the judge of what is my concern."

By then two young knights had arrived trotting on their horses to see what had caused the delay to their party. “What has caused this delay Gormy?” One of the young knights asked. young man lean and lithe, with a comely, clean-shaven face and fine features. Black hair fell shining to his collar. His doublet was made of dark blue silk edged in gold satin. Across his chest an engrailed cross had been embroidered in gold thread, with a golden fiddle in the first and third quarters, a golden sword in the second and the fourth. “Alyn thought you had fallen by the wayside.” The young man turned to look at Dunk and, Dunk could have sworn he saw a look of fear in the man’s eyes, though just as quickly it disappeared.

_"Who are these two brigands?" asked the rider on the bay._

_Egg bristled at the insult: "You have no call to name us brigands, my lord. When we saw your dust, we thought you might be outlaws - that's the only reason that we hid. This is Ser Duncan the Tall, and I'm his squire."_

_The lordlings paid no more heed to that than they would have paid the croaking of a frog. "I believe that is the largest lout that I have ever seen," declared the knight of three feathers. He had a pudgy face beneath a head of curly hair the colour of dark honey. "Seven feet if he's an inch, I'd wager. What a mighty crash he'll make when he comes tumbling down."_

_Dunk felt colour rising to his face. You'd lose your wager, he thought. The last time he had been measured, Egg's brother Aemon pronounced him an inch shy of seven feet._

_"Is that your war horse, Ser Giant?" said the feathered lordling. "I suppose we could butcher it for the meat."_

_"Lord Alyn oft forgets his courtesies," the black-haired knight said. "Please forgive his churlish words, ser. Alyn, you will ask Ser Duncan for his pardon."_

_"If I must. Will you forgive me, ser?" He did not wait for reply, but turned his bay about and trotted down the road._

_The other lingered. "Are you bound for the wedding, ser?"_

_Something in his tone made Dunk want to tug his forelock. He resisted the impulse and said, "We're for the ferry, milord."_

_"As are we ... but the only lords hereabouts are Gormy and that wastrel who just left us, Alyn Cockshaw. I am a vagabond hedge knight like yourself. Ser John the Fiddler, I am called."_

_That was the sort of name a hedge knight might choose, but Dunk had never seen any hedge knight garbed or armed or mounted in such splendour. The knight of the golden hedge, he thought. "You know my name. My squire is called Egg."_

_"Well met, ser. Come, ride with us to Whitewalls and break a few lances to help Lord Butterwell celebrate his new marriage. I'll wager you could give a good account of yourself." The black haired knight seemed to be pleading with Dunk, at least his eyes seemed to be. It confused him deeply._

_Dunk had not done any jousting since Ashford Meadow. If I could win a few ransoms, we'd eat well on the ride east, he thought, but the lord with the three castles on his shield said, "Ser Duncan needs to be about his journey, as do we."_

As the young knight’s companions rode on, Dunk noticed that the young knight who had introduced himself as John the Fiddler hung back, and was looking intently at Dunk. Curious Dunk walked up next to the man’s horse and said “Milord?”

John the Fiddler seemed nervous as he looked around their nearby surroundings, as if he was making sure there was no one near to hear whatever it was that he wished to say. Once he seemed satisfied, he leaned down and whispered to Dunk. “Good Ser, you must come to Whitewalls, things will happen there that could affect Westeros for years to come. If you wish for peace in Westeros you must come to Whitewalls, you and your squire both.”

Before Dunk could ask the man what he meant, John the Fiddler had ridden off to catch up with his companions. “What did he want to say Ser?” Egg asked.

Dunk was not sure what to make of what the man had said, so turning to look at Egg he merely said “We ride for Whitewalls lad, see if I can win a bit of coin to help pay for passage and food.”

Egg nodded, and so they saddled their horses once more and rode hard and fast to catch up with John the Fiddler and his companions.

Whitewalls Castle loomed large on the horizon that evening, the seat of House Butterwell- whose Lord had served as King Daeron the good’s hand during the initial stages of the Blackfyre rebellion- the castle seemed to hum and thrive with activity as the impending nuptials of its lord to a daughter of the Crossing drew nearer.

They are greeted by Ser John the Fiddler when they arrive, the man seems to more gaunt and afraid than last Dunk saw him, and his voice is shaky when he speaks. “Ah Ser Duncan, I am glad you came. Come join me for the wedding won’t you?”

Dunk nods, and dismounts from his horse, giving the reins to a stable boy, Egg does the same and walks behind Dunk as he and Ser John walk toward the inner castle, largely in silence. Though occasionally they will pass a lord or two, who will merely nod their head in acknowledgement at Ser John. “You seem quite well known here ser.” Dunk says casually.

Ser John turned to look at him then, and Dunk was once again surprised to see fear in the man’s eyes. He would have thought that a hedge knight would have been proud and even boastful of the fact that so many lords knew of him. Instead this man only seemed scared and fearful. “Yes, they do know me, but whether they truly do is something I know not.” The man replied, leaving Dunk even more confused.

“Enough of that for now though Ser. Come we have a feast to attend to.” Ser John said next, and soon Dunk found himself seated next to Ser John on the second tier of the wedding rows, eating, drinking and laughing with the others on his bench, as the wedding got into full swing. There were dwarves that kept the guests entertained, eventually Dunk got very, very hot with all the wine and drink and needing a breath of fresh air excuses himself from the table, allowing Ser John to accompany him outside, as Egg is away with some of the other squires.

“I think I may have had a bit too much wine in there I’m afraid.” Dunk says once they are outside, and he feels the wine begin to rush to his head.

“No matter, Ser. A little wine will not hurt your chances in the tourney I am sure.” Ser John says, a faraway tone in his voice,  that makes Dunk look up.

“You think so Ser?” Dunk asks.

“I am certain of it,” Ser John replies. He then goes on. “I had a dream of you Ser. Dressed in white, with a dragon beside you. A red dragon.”

Dunk feels something tense inside of him; could the man know of Egg? He says nothing and waits for the man to go on.

“I also dreamt that the red dragon that you shall stand beside will be born tonight, in this very castle. It will happen soon Ser, be ready. For all of us you must be ready for what happens tonight.” Ser John says, a waver in his voice, that once again sounds like pure fear to Dunk, and he still cannot understand why this man is so afraid. Before he can ask though, the man says “We must go back inside now if you are well, the bedding shall be soon.”

Dunk merely nods and follows the man back into the hall, where Lord Gormon Peake speaks up and says in a loud voice. “The meal has been served, the vows have been said, let’s bed them!” This is met by a loud roar of approval and soon the hall is alight with the sound of chairs and benches being moved and Dunk sees Lord Butterwell and his new Frey bride being carried off to their respective places by the men and women in attendance.

Egg suddenly sits down next to the vacant seat to Dunk’s left, a scowl on his face. “What’s up lad?” Dunk asks.

“We’ve been set up Ser.” Egg replies.

“What do you mean lad?” Dunk asks once more

“I’ve been doing some nosing around and the banners of those here at this wedding, were those who all fought for the black dragon during Redgrass. Peake, Costayne, and Shawney. The man whom calls himself Ser John must be a black dragon or else why would these men be here?”

Dunk sighs once more. “Redgrass was sixteen years ago lad. What is in the past is in the past, let it stay there. These lords all bent the knee to your grandsire at the end of the rebellion, why would they risk more for a failed cause?”

“Because they are traitors’ ser!” Egg says.

Dunk is about to reply when he hears someone say his name. Turning round he sees Lord Alyn Cockshaw looking at him. “Ser Duncan if you would care to walk with me, I would be most grateful.” Dunk can merely nod, and as he gets up to go walk with Lord Cockshaw, he turn round to hiss at Egg to not do anything stupid but finds his squire gone.

He follows Lord Alyn till they are out in the castle grounds, near the well where it is said that Whitewalls draws most of its water from. Lord Alyn stands in front of the well with a grim expression on his face. “You must be wondering why I wish to speak with you Ser Duncan.” Dunk says nothing. “I admit that my conduct with regards to when we met earlier on was not very good, nor was it honourable. I have apologised for that already, though I feel I owe you another apology.”

“Milord?” Dunk says dreading where this seems to be going.

“You see I heard you speak with Ser John, and I believe that you will be a major threat to the plans we have made, a major threat.” Lord Alyn says, his face grim, his eyes hardening.

“My lord? I don’t understand.” Dunk stammers.

Lord Alyn advances forward as he speaks. “You see if Ser John is to have what is his and his family’s birthright you and your squire must die. That much is clear now. You cannot live. I am sorry Ser Duncan, but you must die.” Alyn Cockshaw draws his sword then, and charges toward Dunk.

Dunk has barely anytime to react, let alone draw his sword when Alyn Cockshaw barrels into him with a swing of his sword, the sword strikes Dunk on the chest, winding him and as he is hunched over he sees Cockshaw move back and get himself ready to pounce again. Dunk pulls his sword from its scabbard and blocks Cockshaw’s next blow, the impact jarring his shoulder.

Dunk swings at Cockshaw, and strikes his sword, steel rings out. Cockshaw swings at Dunk and strikes his sword. Dunk swings once more, and this time strikes true nicking the man and drawing blood. Cockshaw strikes and narrowly misses Dunk’s shoulder. Dunk swings and manages to nick Cockshaw’s shoulder drawing blood from the wound once more. Cockshaw swings and Dunk ducks, and then he thrust his sword through the man, burying his sword deep into the man. When he pulls his sword out, it is covered in blood.

“Well done Ser Duncan.” Dunk startles at the voice, and turns round with his sword still raised, and he finds a man with pale blond hair and pale eyes. “You have stopped a traitor, and prevented another rebellion from happening within these walls.”

“Milord?” Dunk asks unsure of whom this man is and why he is congratulating Dunk on killing a man within the halls of wedding.

“Forgive me, my manners are not what they used to be I am Ser Maynard Plumm, and work with the hand of the king. I have come to tell you where you can find your squire, the boy Egg.” The man said sounding eerily calm.

“You know where Egg is?” Dunk asks hopefully.

“Aye that I do, you shall find him in the sept, with a certain black haired knight.” The man replied.

Dunk sighed internally, that boy was going to get himself into much more trouble. He went to thank the man but found him gone, not having time to dwell on where the man could have gone, Dunk ran toward the Sept with his sword still drawn, praying against hope that Egg had not done anything to dangerous.

The sight that greeted him when he burst into the Sept, his sword still drawn surprised him. He finds Egg standing over a cowering and weeping Ser John Fiddler. “Egg, what’s going on lad?” Dunk asks, trying to keep his voice calm.

“This man is a Blackfyre Ser. Daemon Blackfyre, he came here trying to take the Iron Throne and start another rebellion.” Egg replies, sounding angry.

“No! No! You’ve got it all wrong, you’ve got it all wrong.” Ser John Fiddler cries.

“So you are not Daemon Blackfyre then?” Dunk asks.

“No, I mean yes. I am Daemon Blackfyre but I did not come here to start a rebellion!” The man cries.

Dunk advances forward his sword raised, though he is not sure what to do. “Why are you here then?” he asks.

The man looks like he is about to start crying again, and as he takes a deep shuddering breath Dunk pulls Egg away from him. “I came here to join the citadel; I have always wished to become a maester.”

“Lies!” Egg nearly shouts.

“It is not a lie. I have a brother in the north that is a warrior, and would make a better king than me. No I have always wished to become a maester, so I came to Westeros in disguise in the hope of going to Oldtown to earn my chain. But before I could begin to make my way to Oldtown, I was met by a man who said that he knew who I was and that unless I came to Whitewalls and tried to start another rebellion, he would kill me and send men after my brother and his wife in the north. So I met Lord Gormon and we came here. I swear I never wished to start another war!” The man, Daemon all but weeps.

“Who was the man who bribed you Daemon; did he give you a name?” Dunk asks.

The Blackfyre sniffles and says “He said his name was Maynard Plumm.”

“Who?” Egg asks.

“Maynard Plumm, he works for Bloodraven Egg.” Dunk says.

“Why would Bloodraven want to bribe this man then Ser? When Aemon Blackfyre still lives in the north?” Egg asks.

“Because, bribing Daemon to come here and brew rebellion would force the north and Aemon Blackfyre to come out and fight a war. Presenting a way for Bloodraven to kill Aemon Blackfyre and Daeron Stark and allow him to retake the north along the way. If thousands of innocents got killed during the fighting it would make no matter, so long as the main threat to the realm was dealt with.” Dunk explains to his squire.

He sees the anger flash across Egg’s face at the realisation of the injustice that has been done to this young man, so far from home. “We must help him Ser.” Egg says fiercely.

“Aye, though we will be doing treason, are you willing to face the consequences Egg?” Dunk asks.

His squire nods fiercely and replies “Aye Ser I am, what has been done here is dishonourable and if it is possible, we should help Daemon escape to avoid another war that could cost thousands of lives.”

Dunk nods in approval and says “So how shall we help this man escape?”

Egg is silent for a moment before he answers. “There is a secret passageway through the Sept that myself and a few other boys found when we were wandering around the other day. I know not where the passageway leads, but Daemon could use that.”

Dunk nods, then turns to look at Daemon Blackfyre- and not truly believing that he is actually saying this- “Do you think you can make it through the passageway Daemon?”

The man nods weakly, and so Dunk helps him up and he and Egg help to the statue of the mother, where Dunk closes his eyes and prays briefly that what they are doing is the right thing, and then Egg moves the statue slightly- it being only a miniature one- and lo and behold they find a staircase descending down into the darkness, Daemon Blackfyre weeps with joy when he sees it and tearfully says “Thank you, oh thank you so much.” Then he disappears down the staircase, and they place the statue of the mother over it and walk outside.

The whole castle it appears when they emerge from the sept is in disarray, asking a passing hedge knight they learn that Bloodraven is marching for Whitewalls with an army made up of loyal riverlords. Soon Dunk and Egg find themselves facing the hand of the king himself, the man looks gaunt and pale, but there is a fierce determination in his eye when he looks at them.

“No doubt Prince Maekar had some good reason for allowing his son to squire for a hedge knight, he said, "though I cannot imagine it included delivering him to a castle full of traitors plotting rebellion. How is that I come to find my nephew in this nest of adders, ser? Lord Butterbutt would have me believe that Prince Maekar sent you here, to sniff out this rebellion in the guise of a mystery knight. Is that the truth of it?" The Hand of the King says.

Dunk sees Egg scowl then, and he dreads the next words that come from the boy’s mouth. “You set him up didn’t you uncle? Daemon Blackfyre, you knew he was a harmless craven that didn’t want any part in this godforsaken war that his father started, and yet you still set him up and blackmailed him to come here!”

The hand rests his one red eye on Egg, and Dunk swallows nervously. “Ser Roland, Ser Willem leave us.” The two white knights leave the tent bowing before both Bloodraven and Egg. Bloodraven sighs. “So you have heard the truth of it then have you? Aye that I did. But with the fool having escaped war will come to Westeros once more anyway. Daeron Stark will not forget what happened at Redgrass so easily. Do you know how he escaped then Aegon?”

“YES!” Egg shouts. “We helped him escape! It is not fair that such a person as Daemon should pay for the sins of his father or his brother, or his uncle, uncle.”

Bloodraven looked at Egg then and said “My my, what happened to the shy little boy who lived in King’s Landing so long ago? A dragon has replaced him, very well then. You may think that you have saved him, but his brother will not allow the damage done to their name to go unpunished. He will head north, and so I must send men north.”

* * *

 

**Aemon Blackfyre**

Winter had passed, and spring had come, with it had come the fruit of the hard work that his uncle Daeron had done over the past few years. Since the Bolton rebellion had been crushed and Domeric Bolton fled south, his uncle King Daeron Stark had put in place a port town in Stony Shore to allow for more trade to come into the north, had set up valid trading routes with Bravos, Pentos and Myr and had of course found those blasted direwolves, that were a terror of Winterfell. Aemon himself had played a part in helping end the Bolton rebellion, killing Jonothor Bolton, but other than that there was not much else he had done in the running of the north and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

Whilst he sat here in the north, the pretender Aerys Targaryen sat on his throne, and ruled his kingdom! It was slowly driving him mad, he wanted to march south and avenge his father, his brother Aegon, he wanted his mother and his other brothers brought back to Westeros. He didn’t want to keep feeling like a bloody exile in his own kingdom, he wanted the throne and he would have it back. Whenever he had brought up the topic of the throne and when they would march to his uncle Daeron, Daeron had simply stared at him for a long time before saying the same thing time and time again “We will march when we are ready.” Aemon was beginning to wonder if the north would ever be ready, if his uncle was slowly losing his commitment to their cause.

Such thoughts were only made worse every time he saw his wife or children. Barbery had just given birth to their third son whom they had named Viserys and she grew more beautiful each and every day as far as Aemon was concerned, and she would make a very good queen, she was kind and caring, and Aemon wanted the whole of Westeros to see this, that a northerner could make just as good a queen as anyone from the south. His uncle’s reluctance to march now was beginning to grate on Aemon’s patience and nerves, it made him feel like he was a failure, or that his uncle was comparing him to his father and found him lacking in some department. Whenever he brought this up with Barbery she would merely say that “Daeron has things that he must think about before he can truly commit my love, he has his children to think about as well as the whole of the north and the Iron Islands.” Whilst Aemon could understand that, surely all of those worries would go if he marched, there was no reason why they couldn’t be successful, the rumours coming up from the neck were that Aerys Targaryen and that kinslayer Bloodraven were despised by the south, that they were blamed for the drought that had plagued the south for two years after the Great Spring Sickness. Surely now was the time to march and strike true.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, calling for whoever it was to enter Aemon found himself looking at Asphell Wull of the Winter’s Guard. The man was big and broad shouldered, he had been described as a bull by some of the men in the training yard Aemon knew, but he was loyal and dedicated as well. “His Grace King Daeron requests your presence in his solar Prince Aemon.” Wull said.

Aemon nodded and then moved from the window and followed Wull to his uncle’s solar, where he found his uncle Daeron and his uncle Theon and the High Steward of the North Edwyle Stark all sat down around the carved wolf headed table. “You asked for me, Your Grace.” Aemon said.

His uncle looked up then, and Aemon saw the tiredness in his uncle’s eyes, something was bothering him, what it was though Aemon knew not. “Ah Aemon, sit down, you must hear this.” And so Aemon sat down in one of the free chairs. “We have had word from Lord Reed in the neck, it seems your brother Daemon and two others going by the names Ser Duncan and Egg has been found wandering the swamps.”

To say he is shocked is an understatement; he has not seen his brother since that day long ago when he and Aegon left with their father to fight in the war. “Are you sure it is Daemon Lord Reed found uncle and not some vagabond simply called Daemon?” he asks hoping against hope that his voice his calm and not reflecting the nerves that he feels.

His uncle merely looks at him and says “Aye, Lord Reed asked him to prove whom he was and he simply said Thorns rest in the Snow, he said you’d understand that.”

Aemon merely stares at his uncle in disbelief; his brother is here in the north. “Did Lord Reed write why Daemon is in the north and not in Essos with my other siblings and uncle Aegor?” he asks hating how much his voice shakes as he does so.

His uncle shakes his head. “No, he only said that his two companions helped him escape and that he needed to speak with you. They shall be in Winterfell in a few weeks time, I suggest you prepare yourself and Barbery for whatever it is that they have to say.”

Aemon nods and leaves his uncle’s solar, feeling as if his world has been turned upside down. The next two weeks pass by in a whirl, as preparations are made for Daemon and these two companions of his to come to Winterfell. Aemon simply buzzes with nervous energy, he has not seen his brother since he was twelve and Daemon was nine, he wonders what changes his brother has gone through since then, and sometimes he feels deep regret that he could not bring his brother or their other family with them to the north when they fled.

Eventually the day of his brother’s arrival dawns bright and clear, and Aemon along with Barbery and their children- Aegon, Rhaenrya, Daeron and baby Viserys- along with his uncle Daeron and his wife Dacey and eldest son and heir Aegor stand waiting for them in the courtyard of Winterfell, a brisk wind blowing through the ground. Three horses come through the open gates, a bright red horse with a scrawny bald boy riding on it, a black horse with the tallest man that Aemon has ever seen rides on it and the third horse is a pale grey horse with a withered and gaunt looking man on it who has silver hair, the third man speeds his horse up when he sees Aemon, and Aemon tenses.

The man stops just before him and jumps down from his horse, and Aemon feels something within him jump. “Daemon?” he asks tentatively.

“Aemon?” His brother replies.

“DAEMON!” he shouts and then the two of them are embracing and laughing nervously. “It has been so long brother, you’ve gotten too skinny.” Aemon says then jokingly, he regrets his words when he sees the look that passes over his brother’s face then.

Aemon hears someone clear their throat, and he turns round to see his uncle Daeron standing there, his crown glittering in the sunlight. “Prince Daemon I trust? I am King Daeron Stark, King in the North and Iron Islands. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Aemon sees his brother bow. “Now who might your companions be?” his uncle asks indicating the two people who have now dismounted and are approaching them.

“The big man is Ser Duncan the Tall, the boy is his squire Egg.” Daemon says.

Aemon sees his uncle nod, and then “See to it that Ser Duncan and his squire are led to their rooms to be refreshed Alyn. Daemon and Aemon shall come with me, we have much to discuss.”

As they sit down in his uncle’s solar once all has been said and done, Aemon sees just how tired and frail his brother looks, and thinks to ask his uncle to let their discussion wait for another day, but seeing the intent look on his uncle’s face decides against speaking.

“So Prince Daemon, tell us what has led to you coming here to the north to seek refuge.” His uncle Daeron says.

And so, Aemon and his uncle Daeron spend the next hour listening to Daemon as he tells them all about his life in Essos and how he came to Westeros in disguise to train to become a maester at the Citadel, about the bribery by Bloodraven and the Whitewalls Tourney, about how Ser Duncan the Tall and his squire Egg, actually Prince Aegon Targaryen helped him escape and then helped him go north and avoid Bloodraven’s men. By the end of his brother’s tale, Aemon feels angry; he wants to hit the Targaryens back now, for their deceit in bribing his brother, who is innocent of whatever has gone on between their two families in the past.

His uncle Daeron however remains blank faced during the speech and remains so once it is done, not giving any indication of what he thinks. When Daemon finishes speaking, uncle Daeron speaks in a calm and controlled voice. “Thank you for telling us this Prince Daemon, it is important that we know what happened to you. You may go and rest now Theon can show you the way.”

Once Daemon has left the room, Aemon turns to look at his uncle and says “We must march now uncle, they have insulted my family and yours by doing this to Daemon, we must march and we much teach them a lesson!”

Over the years, when it has come to the Targaryens, Aemon has come to expect many sort of reactions from his uncle, verging from anger to respect, but he does not expect his uncle to sigh despondently and run his hands through his hair. “We cannot march south Aemon. We have been over this; we cannot march now nor at anytime in the near future.”

“WHY NOT!” Aemon shouts. “They have done something dishonourable by blackmailing Daemon into coming here and making him becomes part of their lies and dishonour. Bloodraven would start another war that would cost him thousands of lives, simply because he wishes for me to die. His actions brought dishonour up the family, my family uncle. The family you swore to help put on the Iron Thorne or you have forgotten your promise to my father?!”

His uncle looks at him coldly then, and when he speaks his voice is laced with ice. “I forget nothing Aemon. You would do well to remember that. Whilst what happened to Daemon was indeed shocking and dishonourable, we cannot march south, not now. That is what Bloodraven will expect us to do. And if I may quite frank with you Aemon, the minute we march south, is the minute that Barbery and your children will be put in danger. Bloodraven has spies everywhere, and I have not as of yet been able to kill all of them here in the north. No the minute we plan to march, the man will know and then your family and mine will be in danger. I cannot have that. But, just because we cannot march now, does not mean we will not march in the future, there are things happening in the north that will give us more power and strength, things that will allow us to be fully independent of the south once and for all. And also Bloodraven will be impatient for a fight now he knows that Daemon is here.”

“So you say we do nothing?” Aemon asked incredulously. “At least hold Ser Duncan and Aegon!”

“No, we shall not hold them. They shall go, but they shall go with a letter, I shall not let this go unpunished. Let Bloodraven make the first move, then we shall crush him.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Gears Of War

**Daeron**

It was raining hard outside, Daeron Stark King of the North and the Iron Islands, could hear the sound of the rain hitting the castle walls from his solar. He was currently sat staring at the latest report to come from his Master of Whispers Ethan Glover had sent him from Deepwood Motte, the free cities would be in war once more over the Disputed Lands and Bittersteel had committed the Golden Company to fighting in that war, that was good, for it gave Daeron time to make sure certain plans of his had time to come to fruition. He knew his nephew Aemon would not be happy though, the boy wished for his throne, and he wished for it now. Daeron could understand why his nephew wished to fight for the throne now rather than later, Aerys Targaryen was a weak king admired and liked by few, despised by many, the fact that that kinslayer Bloodraven was his hand only made things worse for the man.

Daeron was weary though, he was no longer twenty four, he knew what destruction war could bring, he did not wish to bring that same chaos to his people or to his lands again, not for now anyway.  And so he had told his nephew when Aegon Targaryen and Ser Duncan had come bearing Daemon, that they would wait for Bloodraven to make the first move, for Daeron knew that whilst Aemon and Daemon were both in the North the man would never be able to stand still, war would come, but Daeron would not be responsible for it.  Daeron glanced down at the letter once more and read the reports of mumblings and grumblings from various lords in the south with Aerys’ reign, and the stirring of the Yronwoods and the Daynes in Dorne, this all boded well for when Daeron would stir the north, he could sense the war that was coming, but he knew things now that he had not known when his brother had fallen, he was wiser, and older now.

 His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door, calling for whomever it was to come in he found himself looking at Grand Maester Tywin, the man had been serving as the maester at Winterfell since Daeron had been but a babe at his mother’s breast, he was one of the smartest and wisest men Daeron had ever met. “Your Grace, the scouts have reported that the princess’s party has been sighted some five miles from here.” The maester said in his formal tone.

Daeron nodded, standing up he said “Thank you maester Tywin, send word to my wife and the children, we must be ready to greet the princess and her party in the courtyard when they arrive. I want everyone suitably dressed; Aemon will want to see his sister as well.”

The Maester bowed his head and said formally “Yes Your Grace.”

“Before you leave, send Theon will you Maester?” Daeron said.

Maester Tywin bowed once more, and then before he left he opened the door and called for Theon, once Daeron’s brother was in the room, Maester Tywin closed the door softly behind him. Daeron looked at his brother, Theon the Lord Commander of his Winter’s Guard, with his grey cloak and black armour, his brother seemed tired but still alert, he was one of the finest swordsmen in the north Daeron knew. “You wished to see me Your Grace?” Theon asked.

Daeron nodded. “Aye brother, sit down.” Once his brother had sat down in the chair opposite his own, Daeron sat down and looked at his brother for a long time before he finally spoke. “How good are our defences? Are the soldiers of the guard ready for battle?”

“Our defences are solid brother,” Theon began. “The walls are thick and manned with well trained men who know their loyalty and duty. The guard is as good if not better than Aerys Targaryen’s Kingsguard. We will be ready for battle, but I must ask do you think it will come so soon?”

Daeron nodded. “Aye, Aegor is marrying our niece Theon, a daughter of Daemon Blackfyre, Aemon and Barbery and their children as well as Daemon still live here. Yes there will be war, Bloodraven cannot allow them to live and still be considered fearsome or even worth a thought.”

“But with Bittersteel fighting in the Disputed Lands, how can we count on the houses from the south supporting us?” Theon asked.

Daeron gave his brother a secret smile and merely said. “Because we can. Bittersteel is not needed for us to win, though his services would be most helpful. Bloodraven is becoming impatient waiting for us to make the first move, and what is it our father always used to say?”

“Impatient men, make the most mistakes.” Theon replied.

“Exactly,” Daeron smiled. “Now go and get ready.” Daeron stood up as did his brother, but before his brother left Daeron could not but help pulling his leg. “Oh and brother, try not to do anything with Lady Mormont before the wedding please.” He saw his brother blush, and burst out into a peel of laughter.

Later Daeron and his family, as well as Aemon and Barbery and their family and Prince Daemon (Aemon’s younger brother) were gathered in the courtyard waiting for Princess Delena Blackfyre and her party to ride through the gates. When they did, Daeron noted that the princess seemed to be the exact replica of Daeron’s mother, with her heart shaped face and flowing silver hair and daring violet eyes, Daeron momentarily felt a pang in his chest at the thought of his mother, something that was soothed by Dacey’s hand soft and reassuring in his own. As he watched the princess dismount, he saw that she had come with some heavy duty guards, there was Ser Lyman Reyne the fierce boulder of a man, with his orange hair and sharp green eyes. Eventually his niece came to stand before him and Daeron took her outstretched hand and kissed it briefly before saying. “Welcome to Winterfell Princess, welcome home.”

He made the introductions to his family and noted with some smug satisfaction the fact that his son Aegor as well as Delena seemed to be completely taken with each other. Aemon and Daemon’s reunion with their sister also brought a smile to his face, it was nice to know that the siblings had been reunited, and he once again swore to the old gods that he would seat Aemon on the throne before he died. Eventually all the introductions and reunions had been made and Daeron decreed that they should all retire before that evening’s festivities.

The next week was spent feasting Delena and her party before the wedding was to take place, Daeron ensured that Aegor and Delena had as much time to spend with one another to get to know one another, and from what he could see from his observations was that his plan was largely successful. He also ensured that Aemon and Daemon had some time to spend with their sister, making sure that neither of them were too busy during the day if Aegor was not with his bride to be. Eventually the day of the wedding came, and it seemed to Daeron as if the whole of the north and iron islands had gathered for the event. The lords Umber, Karstark, Glover, Manderly, Dustin, Royce and Dreadstark were present from the north in Winterfell as well as Daeron’s cousin Edwyle and uncle Beron and their families. From the Iron Islands came Daeron’s cousin Dagon and his family, and other members from the Iron Islands as well as Lord Borros Sunderland and his two sons and young daughter.

The wedding went off well, as did the feast that followed it, and soon Daeron found himself sitting in the Great Hall, most of the lords having either retired for the night or past out from the drink and celebrations. Aegor and Delena had retired to their bedchamber for the night, and Aemon was with Barbery watching over their children, where Daemon had gotten to Daeron knew not but he would be safe here in Winterfell, the last of Bloodraven’s spies in the north having been put to the sword a few moons back.

“The wedding went well Your Grace.” Daeron heard his cousin and high steward Edwyle say.

“Aye it did. Let us hope word reaches Bloodraven after a time though.” Daeron replied.

“You do not wish for the man to know about Aegor’s wedding too soon Your Grace?” Edwyle asked.

“Aye Ed, Bloodraven is an impatient man, and with his spies dead or fled, he will not know what is happening here for a long time, time that we shall need for all that we have planned to come to fruition.” Daeron said.

Daeron saw his cousin nod his head before he heard him ask. “You have foreseen this then Your Grace? The war that will come once Bloodraven learns of Aegor and Delena’s wedding? And the price Westeros shall pay in corpses and blood because of it?”

Daeron nodded, suddenly feeling tired, and this was something that always happened when he spoke of his dreams. He could not speak of them to anyone else, not even Dacey whom he shared all else with, he could only speak of them to Edwyle, because he knew his cousin shared the same ability. “Aye cousin I have, and this time I know how close we shall come even before the battle has happened. I want you to speak with Dagon before the man leaves, tell him to strengthen his defences around Pyke. And tell him, the time to unleash his weapons may come sooner than he thinks.”

If his cousin was confused by what he was saying he did not show it, but merely nodded. “Good,” Daeron said feeling quite tired and wishing to rest in Dacey’s embrace now. “Get some rest Ed; I shall speak with you tomorrow.” With that he got up and left.

 

* * *

 

Two moons after his son’s wedding to Delena Blackfyre, Maester Tywin confirmed that Delena was pregnant, and Winterfell and the whole of the kingdom rejoiced with the news, soon an heir for the heir of the north would be born. To celebrate Daeron decided to take his son along with three men of the Winter’s Guard on a hunt in the Wolfswood, Dacey was pregnant and so Daeron had decreed that she should stay behind to run the castle, Aemon and Daemon had both declined to come along on the hunt.

They had been on the hunt for roughly three hours, Aegor’s wolf Serron had found and killed three boars in that time, when they spotted it, a deer, a big one at that and silver to boot. Instantly Aegor, in his youthful exuberance set off after it, and Daeron nodded at Asphell Wull and Jeyne Mormont to follow his son, whilst he and Theon hung back waiting to see how successful Aegor would be in his first proper hunt. Whilst they waited, a slight wind rustled through the trees and Daeron felt the chill enter his bones, he shivered slightly.

“So brother,” Daeron began. “What is happening exactly between you and Jeyne Mormont?” When Theon began stuttering, Daeron laughed. “Oh come now brother, did you truly think I would not notice if two of my own guard began having an affair?”

Theon continued to stutter incoherently, so much so that Daeron began to laugh aloud once more. “So tell me brother, without stuttering like an absolute fool, what is happening between you and Mormont?”

Daeron watched as his brother swallowed nervously before he spoke. “We.... we were having an affair brother.”

“Were?” Daeron asked, his curiosity getting the better of him now.

“Aye,” Theon replied. “Jeyne, she, she said we should not keep doing what we were doing, that it would be a dereliction of our duty to you, to the kingdom to keep doing this.”

Theon sounded so sad when he spoke that Daeron felt for his brother, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder he said. “Did you/ do you love her brother?”

“Aye.” Theon said so softly, that Daeron thought for a moment that he had not even spoken.

“And does she love you?”Daeron asked.

“Aye.” Theon replied once more.

Daeron sighed. “Ah brother, if only you had told me. How long have you loved her?”

“Since we were young brother, whilst you were in the south.” Theon said.

Daeron looked at his brother incredulously. “For that long? Why did you not say anything you idiot. I could have arranged your betrothal to her, and then you too could have married. If I had known you needn’t have joined the Guard.”

“She was betrothed to some boy from the Mountain Clans; we joined the guard together so we could be together.  But she’s right, we can’t keep going as we were and still do our duty to you and the kingdom properly.” Theon mumbled.

Daeron was about to reply, when he heard the sound of leaves rustling. Raising his bow, he looked toward the trees where the rustling had come from and nearly dropped his bow in shock. For there standing before him and his brother was a creature with nut brown skin and pale spots and large ears and larger green eyes. “Halt in the name of the King of the North.” Daeron heard his brother say.

The creature whatever it was stopped its rustling and looked at them both, before it began speaking in a guttural tongue that neither of them understood. The being stopped talking and then cocking its head to one side spoke in the common tongue. “Stark?” it said, the words sounding cracked and discordant.

“Yes,” Daeron said finally regaining the use of his voice. “And who are you?” He spurred his horse closer toward the creature, Theon following close behind.

“I am of those who sing the song of the earth. I have no name in the old tongue, the true tongue. But you may call me Leaf.” The creature said.

“What are you?” Theon asked, Daeron glanced behind him quickly and saw that his brother had his hand on his sword hilt.

“I am what you would call a child of the forest.” Leaf said.

“The children died thousands of years ago, everyone knows that.” Daeron replies.

“Not all, some of us went into hiding after the dark disappeared and the light came. When dragons danced, one more joined us, and our Order continues in the Land of Faces. You, yourself were crowned on our land by one of us were you not Daeron Stark.” Leaf says smiling slightly, so that Daeron and Theon can both see the creature’s jagged black teeth.

“How do you know that?” Daeron asks, trying to keep his voice calm

Daeron hears the creature chuckle, before it says in its cracked voice. “Because my kind have been keeping an eye on your family for generations now Daeron, ever since the Builder raised the wall, we have kept watch over your family and the north. And now the time has come for you to learn of secrets forgotten for many a generation south of the wall. Come follow me.” And with that Leaf turned and walked back into the forest.

Daeron hesitated, unsure of whether to follow or not. Theon moved his horse closer to Daeron’s and whispered fervently. “Don’t follow the creature brother, we both know that the Children of the Forest have been dead for thousands of years, since long before the conquest. This could be a trap.”

Daeron merely looked at his brother, before saying. “I must go and see what this creature wishes of me, and if it seems traitorous I shall kill it myself.” With that he spurred his horse forwards and after the creature, Theon cursing followed behind him, his sword raised, ready for any possible attack. They found Leaf sitting on a rock in the clearing of the Wolfswood, and beside it tethered to one of the trees was a large beast, with tusks. “That can’t be possible.” Daeron heard his brother say under his breath.

“Oh but it is, Theon son of Willam and brother to Daeron. Mammoths live, just as Direwolves do, as you well know, considering your nephew and nieces have them. Daeron Stark, you claim to be King of the North and the Iron Islands, you worship the old gods as your ancestors did before you. And yet you do not control the whole of the north. The lands north of the wall remain to the free folk and those creatures of darkness. What I tell you know will help you and your descendants in years to come, and will help explain the dreams, or predictions that you have when you sleep.”

Daeron swallowed, and he knew that his brother was looking at him askance, wondering what it was that the creature was speaking of. Daeron merely nodded at Leaf, asking it to continue. “The maesters, those learned men of the citadel will say that magic has died. That it died when the last dragon died in Westeros during the reign of Aegon Targaryen. This is not true, as you well know, with direwolves in Winterfell; Magic is still well and alive. There are dragons in the Far East as well, in those fiery places where the worshippers of the heathen are. But that is not relevant, direwolves; mammoths are only the shadow piece of this great magic. Giants and wargs live as well, as do those with the sight, and the greenseers, though there is only one of those at present.”

“Is that why my children found the direwolves then? Because they are wargs?” Daeron asked surprisingly not completely disgusted with the idea.

“Yes, the gods in their wisdom have seen fit to grant your children the power that your ancestors lost when the conqueror came to Westeros. But that is not all. With the dragons dead in Westeros, and with man continuously growing in south and the north, the giants are dying Daeron Stark. Those creatures that your ancestor the builder loved and cherished are dying. And help is needed to protect them from destruction.” Leaf said its eyes seemingly saddening at the thought of Giants death.

“But how? How can I help?” Daeron asks. “I am but a man; I am no warg, no magician.”

“Ah but you have the sight Daeron Stark. Those dreams that keep you up at night, sweating and afraid. They are also a gift from the Old Gods. A vision of things to come, a way for you to alter the future. Your abilities will be present in your children and grandchildren and all those who follow you. There is one more of that type in your lineage, a cousin. Use that gift, teach your children and grandchildren of the gift and the land shall be saved.” With that Leaf got up and left, leaving before Daeron could ask anyone of the hundreds of questions that he had burning through his head.

* * *

 

**Maekar**

It was damnably hot in King’s Landing, Maekar had ridden past people sweating so much that he was surprised a river had not formed from their perspiration, the bodies of the fallen those who had caught whatever it was that was doing the rounds in the capital were building up in the streets, the flames from the Dragonpit still not ending the continuous pile up of bodies and famine that was attacking the city. Maekar sighed, winter had ended and had brought spring, but spring had heralded disease and famine, and death, his father and nephews had died and so Aerys had come to the throne, and with him had come that blasted Bloodraven.

Maekar and Bloodraven had never been the best of friends, that was well known, Maekar had never truly trusted his bastard uncle, and after the Blackfyre rebellion had trusted him even less than he had before. The realm needed a solid and firm hand, and so he had expected his brother to name him hand of the king, not their bastard kinslaying uncle. But Aerys had never had much common sense, the fact that Aelinor was still a maid proved that, and so one disaster had followed another with the drought replacing the sickness, and now the famine had come. Bloodraven kept one eye on the north and a thousand on Tyrosh, but Maekar had retreated to Summerhall, knowing that he would not work well with the kinslayer, not whilst Daeron was still alive.

Now he was back in King’s Landing for the first time in four years, back by summons of his brother the king, though he knew that it was Bloodraven who was summoning him. Summoning him to answer for what his son Aegon, otherwise known as Egg had done. He knew not the full details of what his youngest son had done, only that they had rescued Daemon Blackfyre, and had taken him north to Daeron for sanctuary instead of allowing him to be arrested by Bloodraven. A curious situation if ever there was one Maekar had to admit, though he did admire his son’s bravery. He nodded at Ser Roland and entered the small council chamber, where he found his brother- looking frailer than last he had seen him-, Bloodraven, Lyonel Baratheon- master of laws- , Tybolt Lannister- master of ships-, Ossifer Plumm- master of coin and husband to Maekar’s great aunt Eleana- and Lord Commander of his brother’s Kingsguard Ser Willem Wylde present. So it was to be a public matter was it? Not sorted behind closed doors. Typical, Bloodraven could not allow anything to do with Daeron go unpublicised, not since they had been children. The fool.

“Where are Ser Duncan and my son?” Maekar said brusquely speaking directly to Bloodraven.

“They shall be here shortly Prince Maekar. First though we would like to speak with you.” Bloodraven replied in that soft voice of his.

Maekar did not like the way that this conversation was going, he could already feel the frustration with his bastard uncle begin to come to the surface. And so trying to keep his voice as calm as possible asked. “And what is it that you wished to speak with me about?”

“What do you know of what your son and his sworn sword did at Whitewalls?” Bloodraven asked, his voice becoming noticeably colder.

“I know only that of which I have been told my lords, Your Grace. That my son and his sworn sword helped the pretender Daemon Blackfyre escape from imprisonment and justice and helped him reach his uncle Daeron Stark in the north. As to the why and how I know not.” Maekar replied, taking some grim satisfaction in the way his uncle’s faced grimaced when Daeron’s name was mentioned.

“Very well then,” Bloodraven said. Maekar watched as his uncle got up from his chair opened the door and said to Ser Roland. “Bring them in.”

Once Bloodraven had sat back down, Maekar turned to watch as his son and his sworn sword were brought into the small council chamber. Aegon wore his princely attire, black and red with the Targaryen brooch clasping his cloak, Ser Duncan wore simple brown clothes. Aegon walked in with his shoulders straight and his head held high, whilst Ser Duncan walked with a limp and his shoulders stooped. Maekar merely looked at the two, before Bloodraven spoke once more. “You know why you are here. Prince Aegon and Ser Duncan aided the traitor Daemon Blackfyre in his escape from arrest at Whitewalls. They took him to the traitor Daeron Stark, where they broke bread and drank wine with the man, and then they returned south, without Daemon. Now please explain to the council why you did these things.”

Maekar deeply hoped that Ser Duncan would do the talking, for he had a bad feeling that whatever Aegon said even if it were the truth, it would only make things much worse for them. He nearly groaned aloud when Aegon spoke. “We freed Daemon Blackfyre from Whitewalls and helped him escape because he had never wanted to be there, because he had been blackmailed into being there and attending that tourney.”

Maekar looked at his son questioningly, this was the first time he had heard of this, the other members of the council were muttering amongst themselves as well. “What do you mean he did not want to be there? He’s a Blackfyre isn’t he? Those lot have more pride than sense.” Lyonel Baratheon said brashly.

Maekar saw his son’s eyes narrow at the man’s words. “Daemon Blackfyre simply wished to come to the citadel to become a maester. He harboured no ambitions of claiming the Iron Throne; he never was very martial he admitted to us. He said he had come to Westeros to train, but he had been found by a Ser Maynard Plumm at the harbour and bribed by this man to attend the Whitewalls tourney and if he did not do so, his life would be forfeit.”

“Did Blackfyre tell you all of this himself then?” Tybolt Lannister asked.

“Yes my lord he did.” Aegon replied.

“And you believed him?” Grand Maester Orys asked disbelievingly

“Yes,” Aegon replied unflinchingly. “The man was crying and cowering as he told us this. I have always been taught that a man always tells the truth when there is a sword near his head or if he is crying and cowering.”

Maekar heard Lyonel Baratheon snort at that. Bloodraven spoke for the first time. “That is all well and good, but what you did was treason. And for that you must be punished.”

Maekar was about to voice his thoughts when Aegon suddenly shouted. “If I must be punished, then so too must you uncle!”

At this there was a loud amount of muttering in the council chamber, Maekar looked at Bloodraven but found the man’s face unreadable. Aerys had suddenly perked up at his nephew’s words and asked his frail voice. “Whatever do you mean Aegon?”

Aegon swallowed and then said rather formally. “Ser Maynard Plumm the man who had threatened Daemon Blackfyre, works for Lord Brynden, and Lord Brynden himself admitted that he had been responsible for Blackfyre coming to Whitewalls. He admitted this myself and Ser Duncan Your Grace.”

“Is this true Brynden?” Maekar heard his brother ask.

There was silence for a long moment before Bloodraven replied. “Aye Your Grace it is.”

“Then Aegon is right, if he has to be punished, so too does Bloodraven.” Maekar said, now unable to keep a lid on his anger and frustration.

The confusion on his brother’s face angered Maekar beyond belief, had his brother truly forgotten the treaty that their father had worked so hard for? Was Aerys so far gone as that? “He tried to bring war down upon us brother. By bringing Daemon Blackfyre to Westeros, to Whitewalls to try and stir up the Black Dragon’s supporters and then arresting Daemon, Bloodraven would have brought the wrath of the north down upon us. You haven’t forgotten the promise Daeron Stark made to his brother have you when the first rebellion happened? He would have been honour bound to bring his men down from the neck. War would have happened and thousands of lives would have ended because of some crazy scheme our uncle hatched.”

“I think you may have overreached there my prince.” Maester Orys said, a major Bloodraven supporter, maybe even the man’s pawn Maekar thought bitterly. “I am sure Lord Brynden did not try to start another war on purpose. He simply acted as he saw fit for the realm and for the king.”

“Are you a fool old man? Lord Brynden deliberately brought Daemon Blackfyre here so that Daeron Stark would try and bring his men down, therefore when war started he could pin the blame on Stark and not himself. Can’t you see this?” Tybolt Lannister said.

The arguments raced backwards and forwards as the divided small council argued about who was more in the wrong Bloodraven for trying to start another war, or Aegon and Ser Duncan for helping a Blackfyre escape. Eventually Aerys spoke. “Enough! Enough I say. We all agree that was done by Aegon was foolish, he should not have allowed Daemon Blackfyre to flee, regardless of what the man told him. For that he and his knight shall be banned from coming back to King’s Landing for three years, if they try to come to King’s Landing they shall be whipped. Brynden ....” here the king faltered and Maekar knew he was lost.

He got up and seethed with anger “If you shall not punish him Aerys, then I shall leave and my son and Ser Duncan shall come with me.”

With that he walked out of the chamber, with his son and sworn sword trailing after him, they mounted their horses and rode for Summerhall, all the while Maekar was fuming and angry, his uncle had his brother under a spell, something had to be done about it, but what he knew not. Ten miles out of King’s Landing, Tybolt Lannister joined them and informed them that Aerys had retreated back to his books after the small council session, and Bloodraven had ordered Tybolt to return to Casterly Rock and build ships for an attack on the Iron Islands. War was coming again. This time though, Maekar was not so sure what the outcome would be.


	17. Blood Red Skies

**Dacey Stark**

The New Year had been welcomed into Winterfell and the Kingdom of the North and Iron Islands in some style. A great feast had been held at Winterfell with all the principal lords of the kingdom in attendance, there was much merriment and drinking, and for the first time in a long time Dacey saw her husband, the Winter Dragon smiling in public, laughing with his brothers and cousins, and generally having a good time. There was good cause to be happy for everyone present, the New Year saw the ninth year of peace in the kingdom since the Boltons failed rebellion, her cousin Cregan Dreadstark had done much to improve the reputation of the Dreadfort as well as to bring in more income and peace to those once troubled lands.

There was also another reason for the feast that had been held to welcome in the New Year, Dacey had given birth to twins, a boy she and Daeron had named Rodrick and a girl they had named Jeyne after their aunt. Both children looked like her, with their long Stark faces and brown hair, the only sign that there was any Targaryen blood in them was their violet eyes, the same shade of violet as Daeron had, as Aegor had. New Year had been a peaceful and prosperous time for the north, with money coming in thick and fast and filling the treasury from trading with Bravos, Pentos and Myr as well as the tributes that the Summer Islands and Ibben paid them, the northern coffers were swelling with gold.

As the months progressed, a feeling of happiness and contentment began to develop for Dacey, her children were healthy and growing stronger by the day, they got along well with their half siblings- Crown Prince Aegor, Princesses Daena and Eleana- and it seemed as if the smallfolk loved them as well. Her eldest son Jorah in particular seemed to have developed a strong bond with Aegor, the two were seen together constantly even before Aegor’s marriage, to the point where it was often joked that Jorah was Aegor’s shadow. And when Aegor and Delena had their first child, a daughter whom they named Rhaenrya Jorah became the doting uncle, and Winterfell rejoiced once more.

Of course they could not entirely escape the goings on of the south, and more than once Dacey would find Daeron slumped in a chair in their chambers, a letter from Ethan Glover open. More than likely the letter would contain some sort of detail about how Brynden Rivers, the bastard Hand of the southern king was exerting even more control over Aerys Targaryen and how the southern kingdoms were beginning to pay the price for Aerys’ weakness and lack of fortitude. She also found her husband often engaged in long talks with Edwyle Stark, their cousin and high steward of the northern kingdom, about what Dacey knew not, but often Daeron would return to their chambers late at night exhausted and frustrated beyond belief.

Eventually seven moons into the 213th Year after Aegon’s Landing, Dacey Stark found out what it was that had been giving her husband sleepless nights. Today was the day when the council usually met, and Dacey would often spend that time with the children, making sure Jorah and Brandon got up  to little mischief, and that Daena, Eleana and Lyanna were actually doing their studies, and now with Rodrick and Jeyne being no more than babes she had had to bring them along to the nursery as well, so she was quite surprised when her husband told her that morning. “You shall be coming with me and Aegor to the council meeting today my love.”

“Oh? And why is that, do you need a woman’s touch to liven up these proceedings husband?” Dacey asked cheekily.

Daeron smiled slightly at her words but shook his head. “No there was a raven in the night, and I need you to be present when we discuss its contents.”

And so it was that they walked to Daeron’s solar that served as the council chamber during emergency meetings, something that as far as she knew had only happened once before, when the first Blackfyre war had happened, she felt the butterflies begin to float in her stomach.  There seated already when they entered the room were Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard Theon Stark, High Steward Edwyle Stark, High Shadow Ethan Glover, Master of Coin Jonnel Manderly , High Admiral of Narrow Sea and Commander of the Northern Fleet Beron Stark and Grand Maester Tywin Reyne. It seemed by their severe expressions that whatever needed to be discussed was of grave importance. They waited a moment and then once Aegor arrived, with his hair noticeably ruffled they began.

“My lords, my lady. I thank you for coming here today, for this meeting. As you know since the Bolton Rebellion was crushed many years ago, we have had peace, and prosperity. Not since the times of the old Kings of Winter have our coffers ever been so full. However, it seems that the peace may be at an end. I have received word from one of our many sources in the south that Tybolt Lannister has begun building ships in Lannisport, perhaps for a possible attack on the Iron Islands. Now I would hear your thoughts on what the man’s actions could mean for our peace and whether or not you think the chance of war is high or not.”

There was silence for a moment before Jonnel Manderly spoke. “It is likely just a security measure being done by Lord Tybolt Your Grace. After all Lord Dagon is not known as the Lord Reaper of Pyke for no reason.” He finished with a chuckle.

Dacey saw her husband turn his eyes onto the man, and the look he gave could have frozen anyone to their death. In a cold voice he said. “Dagon knows not to go raiding in the south, without my express order. No, Tybolt Lannister is not building these ships for protection against Dagon.”

Dacey’s father Beron spoke next. “Perhaps the man plans on sailing for Valryia. We all know that House Lannister has craved a Valyrian steel sword since their king lost it some millennia a go. Perhaps that is why he builds his fleet Your Grace.”

There was much laughing at that, even Dacey smiled. Her father smiled at her as well and she felt her heart sing, he had not spoken to her the whole time she had been Daeron’s Queen before now, for some reason or the other that she could never figure out. The good mood was put to an end when High Steward Edwyle Stark spoke in a serious tone. “I highly doubt that Tybolt Lannister is fool enough to try for such a quest. Not know, not with the feelings running between red and black in his kingdom. To embark on such a quest would be suicidal for him and for House Lannister. No I think that he is planning for war. For a war with the north and the Iron Islands.”

The mood became very somber after that, Dacey internally wanted to shout at her cousin, he could be so solemn and a killjoy sometimes, it seemed as if he only came to life around his sister Melissa. No wonder he was still unmarried. Dacey saw Daeron look thoughtfully at Edwyle then before he turned to her and in a move that surprised her asked. “And what do you think my lady?”

Dacey swallowed once and took her time to think before she eventually said. “I think that it is a little pre emptive to believe that Tybolt Lannister is building war galleys. Perhaps he is simply replenishing his fleet. Though perhaps it would be wise to send a raven to Lord Dagon to make him aware of what the man is doing, so that he can make ample preparations.”

She flushed with pride when she saw Daeron smile at her, and then he turned to his heir and asked him. “And you Aegor, what do you think we should do?”

Aegor was silent for a long moment, his fingers pressed into his temples, a gesture so similar to something that Daeron would do. Before he finally said. “I agree with Her Grace, Your Grace. It would be best to send a raven to Lord Dagon informing him of Lord Lannister’s movements and advise him to take the necessary precautions.”

Dacey saw Daeron nod. “Good, that is settled then. Maester Tywin send the raven out today if you would. That is all. We shall meet again in a few weeks time.” And with that council was over.

Later that evening as she and Daeron lay in bed, with her fingers drawing patterns on his chest, she asked him a question that had been running through her mind since that morning. “Do you think that Tybolt Lannister will try and attack Pyke my love?”

Daeron was silent for a long moment before he replied. “Yes. But he will not do so voluntarily. Bloodraven wants Aemon’s head on a spike along with Barbery and their children. He wants to provoke me into fighting a war, so he has ordered Tybolt Lannister to build his warships. An attack on Pyke will come, it is just a matter of when.”

“So then why call the council session? Why not simply send reinforcements to Pyke now and be done with it?” Dacey asked.

Daeron looked down at her and said softly. “Because then that would invite the possibility of war. At that is something I do not want for us. I called my banners during Daemon’s rebellion because he was my brother and I loved him. I was young and foolish then. Now? Now I have more family to care for, to live for. I will wait, and then Bloodraven will make the move. Then we shall strike and Aemon shall sit the throne that is rightfully his.”

“But how do you know that Tybolt Lannister is building his ships? I know we don’t have men in the south, just as much as Bloodraven has no men in the north.” She asked curious.

She felt Daeron stiffen underneath her, but he replied calmly. “Edwyle my love. Do not ask me how, do not ask why. But Edwyle knows things, can see things that allow us to plan and plan ahead. This was one of those things.”

Dacey yawned then, but before she could allow sleep to claim her, there was just one last thing she needed to know from Daeron, from the love of her life. “Why did you fight for Daemon Blackfyre my love. I know you said he was your brother, but why, what made you abandon your vows to the Iron Throne?”

Daeron sighed deeply and Dacey almost regretted asking, but her desire to know to understand this man she loved made her not regret. Eventually Daeron spoke. “He was my brother Dace, I loved him fiercely,  he was there for me in King’s Landing when everyone else questioned what a northern savage was doing in the capital filled with Dornishmen. When Myriah Martell and her family made fun of me and my mother and father, Daemon was there to help me, to protect me. And I made a promise to him, when he called his banners, I promised I would not rest until he or his sons sat the Iron Throne. He would have been a great king, he bore the sword yes, but he was kind and noble. Bittersteel and Fireball may have led him astray towards the end, but he would have been a kind and just king. Aemon will be a kind and just king too, he may be impatient now, but he is young and the young are always impatient. I owe it to Daemon to see his son on the throne, for all he did for me when we were boys, when we were men grown. I owe it to him.”

Dacey felt the tears falling from her husband’s eyes and she moved her hands from his chest to stroke his hair and brought his head down to rest on her shoulder, and softly she whispered. “Then we shall fight, and we shall win and Aemon Blackfyre shall sit the throne.”

* * *

 

Two moons past by in which the summer rains came and went, and harvests were brought in, in preparation for autumn perhaps though the summer had just begun. Dacey watched as Aegor Stark the son not of her body but of her blood grew and as his eighteenth nameday came and went, she saw the pride in Daeron’s eyes when his boy came back with a deer, killed on a hunt, his great black direwolf Serron panting next to his horse. Yes, she thought Aegor will make a fine king when his day comes, and Jorah and Brandon will be his solid left and right hands. Already her two oldest boys were showing skills at arms as was Lyanna, Daena and Eleana were more inclined to womanly arts, Daena more so especially as she continued in her quest to woo Aemon and Barbery’s eldest son Aegon, Eleana herself was a serious and somber child, why Dacey knew not, and Daeron refused to speak of what may have caused such seriousness.

The last of the two moons since the council had met ended with a grand wedding, the wedding of Princess Daena Stark to Prince Aegon Blackfyre, thus further uniting Houses Stark and Blackfyre together. Daena at thirteen and Aegon at eleven were both in love with each other, or atleast as in love with one another as children as young as that could be. The wedding was attended by the lords of the north and the three sisters, Dagon Greyjoy and his children could not attend for they were seeing to the defences of Pyke, and though the man’s mother Jeyne Greyjoy formerly Jeyne Stark attended her grand niece’s wedding. ]

Two days after the wedding with Daena and Aegon having ventured to White Harbour for a brief holiday together, of course with Winter’s Guard protection, Jeyne Mormont and Asphell Wull went with them as well as thirty men from Winterfell’s household guard, they received word of the Lannister’s attack on Harlaw and on Pyke itself. The letter written in the Maester of Pyke’s scrawling handwriting described the fierce battles that had taken place in Harlaw, between Denys Harlaw and his men and those men commanded by Tybolt Lannister’s brother Gerion Lannister. The maester wrote as well of some 6,000 men led by Tybolt Lannister himself beginning to lay siege to Pyke. Daeron’s response was instant. “Maester Tywin write to Barrowtown and the Rills, and to Steffon Cassel at Stony Shore. I want men sent to aid Dagon at Pyke, and I want men sent to invade the Westerlands.” And so the ravens flew, Steffon Cassel led men from Stony Shore, 2,000 of them as they landed at Pyke and fought battles there. Torrhen Dustin led some 2,000 northmen comprised of Dustin, Ryswell, Stout and Shadow Point men as they landed in the Westerlands and began a campaign there, joined as they were by rebel Westerland Houses led by Robb Reyne.

The north bestirred itself from its slumber as well. Dacey watched amazed as Daeron quick as thunder, called his banners, ravens sent to every corner of the northern kingdom and to the three sisters. And as all the lords not already engaged in battle came bringing with them some 16,000 men in total, they gathered in Winterfell’s grounds and castle and began plotting what to do next. Some lords such as Hothar Umber argued stringently for marching south straight away to aid Torrhen Dustin in destroying the Westerlands, other lords such as Daeron’s brother Cregan Dreadstark argued that they march south straight into the heart of the Riverlands and burn the place down to ashes, to teach Bloodraven a sharp lesson. Though there were disagreements about where they should fight, all the lords agreed that the cause behind this war was not them, but Bloodraven, the man, the power behind the Iron Throne.

Eventually a raven came from Lord Dorren Reed of Greywater Watch informing them of a host led by Lord Brynden Tully some 5,000 strong marching up from the Twins and toward the Neck, it was then that Daeron stirred himself from Winterfell and from the restlessness of his lords and said in a commanding voice. “We march south, and we destroy Lord Tully’s host, and then we march for King’s Landing!” The host was divided in command, Cregan Dreadstark took command of the right of the northern host, Osric Karstark took command of the left of the northern host, the van was commanded by Daeron himself, and Dacey, she was put in charge of the reserve which was made up of some 1500 men from White Harbour. “You shall hold the reserve my love. I know you are a skilled warrior, but I do not want to lose you. We shall attack Lord Tully from the north, Edwyle shall hold the Moat in our absence, and Aegor will be the Stark in Winterfell. We shall over man this southerner and then we shall march south.” Her father remained in White Harbour to hold the sea borders of the northern kingdom.

They marched south for three weeks before they came upon Lord Tully’s host, bedraggled as it was, some 200 of its men had died to the Cranongmen arrows and darts and to lizard lions, but still they fought long and hard for the day that the battle lasted. Dacey, though in command of the reserve found her thrust to the front of leading the charge once Daeron had taken a wound to the chest, a severe wound it seemed. Using her Morningstar she swung left and right, cutting down men bearing all kinds of sigils from the Riverlands, watching as their bodies fell lifeless to the ground only to be swallowed up by the swamps and marshes. The battle of the neck was over before it truly began, Brynden Tully himself was captured, bound, bloodied but alive. The men asked her as their queen what should be done with the man, and she declared he was to be kept in a cell in Moat Cailin to await further judgement.

Their march continued south, to the Twins the site where Daeron had made his first move in the Blackfyre rebellion some eighteen years past.  Daeron having recovered from his wound in time, did not wait for a parley, instead with some sort of deep seated anger ordered their host now 12,000 strong to attack the Twins. Dacey found herself swinging and hacking her way through weasel haired Freys left right and centre until her weapon dripped with blood and the floor was covered in the bodies of her fallen foes, one of whom included the Lord Frey. His heir a boy by the name of Walder Frey was but seven years old, bent the knee and was left as a hostage in the care of Rodrick Mormont, whom Daeron left to hold the Twins.

The Second Blackfyre war had gotten off to a good start for the northern cause, two victories, and with reports that Pyke and Harlaw had been freed and that Gerion Lannister had been slain, Tybolt Lannister was trapped between Fair Isle and Pyke, his lands were slowly being encroached. The northmen celebrated, and Dacey could have sworn she tasted victory coming soon.

* * *

 

**Garth Tyrell**

Summer had come in its fully beauty to Highgarden. The roses were blooming and the orchards were producing grapes and apples and oranges, it was also startlingly hot, not as hot as it had been during the Great Sickness in the Spring nor as hot as it had been during the drought that had followed, this hot was the good kind of hot, the kind that allowed for plants to grow and for the people of Highgarden and the Reach to bathe in all their glory, yes this was the good kind of hot Garth thought.  He had been but a lad when the sickness had enveloped Westeros, and had claimed the lives of many of his friends; his uncle had summoned him back from Ashford to stay in the secure walls of Highgarden whilst the rest of the land suffered through it all. He had lost Malora to the sickness, he missed her still sometimes, but know, know he was married to Denise and he loved her deeply, just as he loved her father, his own uncle Leo deeply.

Garth Tyrell was nineteen, was tall and thickly built and had the brown hair and golden eyes synonymous with his house, a lad skilled in arms most especially the battle axe, he had been knighted by his uncle Leo Longthorn Tyrell two years past, and had married his cousin Denise just over a year ago, they were expecting their first child any day now. All that was well and good for House Tyrell, but the one thing that worried Garth about his house’s future and as well as the future of the Reach, was all compiled in the letter that lay on the table in front of him, its sides creased from the number of times he had read it, and the number of times he had played with it nervously whilst debating what to do. For the letter contained instructions from the hand of the king himself, Brynden Rivers had written to Garth about the upcoming war with the north and the Blackfyres, and how Garth and the whole strength of the Reach would be needed to deal with them.

“My lord, Brynden Rivers is a kinslayer and a man without honour who has bewitched his grace King Aerys and has got him to do all kinds of unspeakable things in the name of peace. This war he speaks of breaks the peace that Daeron the Good and Daeron the Winter Dragon agreed to after Redgrass.” Mern Redwyne, the young and boisterous Lord of the Arbor argued.

“Aye but Aerys Targaryen is the rightful king. Sorcerer or no, Bloodraven speaks with the king’s voice, we are honour bound to help Aerys hold the kingdom against the Blackfyres.” Devon Tarly argued stringently.

“But at what cost to us my lord? We all know what will happen the minute Daeron Stark stirs from Winterfell. The realm will bleed, for it was often said that Daeron Stark was the only warrior to equal Daemon Blackfyre in combat, and the man is older now than the Black Dragon was when he fell at Redgrass, with Stark leading the charge, the Blackfyre loyalists will stir from their holds and join behind Aemon Blackfyre’s banner and the realm will bleed. Surely it would be better and more prudent for us to join Blackfyre and guarantee his victory and ensure that those bloody Florents are taught a lesson or two?” Redwyne argued.

“We swore a vow, an oath to the Iron Throne that we are honour bound to uphold. We cannot abandon it to serve some young upstart who thinks to use his connections to usurp that which is not his by right.” Tarly argued stubbornly.

“Uncle? What do you think?” Garth asked, determined to get this over and done with now, so he could spend some time with Denise before he ultimately had to march.

Leo Tyrell was a calm and patient man who had taught Garth much about weighing one’s words before speaking them. He had also taught Garth to put the interests of the Reach and House Tyrell before thinking like a greedy man. “What Lord Tarly says is correct, we swore a vow to the Iron Throne, to defend and fight for the King. However, Bloodraven has done many things that are questionable as Hand, he has done them not Aerys, Aerys Targaryen is not the power on the throne that much we can all agree on. The Blackfyre boy may yet emerge victorious and it would be beneficial if we knew where we stand with Aemon Blakcfyre should he emerge victorious. Therefore I would suggest that unless we are called in action to defend the king, we remain neutral for the time being.”

Garth nodded and was about to conclude the meeting when a knock on the door brought in Maester Orwyle, Highgarden’s maester, an old kindly man who had served at Highgarden since the days of Garth’s “But there has been a raven from King’s Landing, bearing the Hand’s own seal.”

Orwyle handed the letter to Garth, and sure enough there was Bloodraven’s sigil, a white dragon on black. He broke open the seal and read aloud. “Gods above, Tybolt Lannister has launched an attack on the Iron Islands, and has taken Harlaw and is laying siege to Pyke, however, rebel Westerlords led by Robb Reyne and joined by northmen led by Torrhen Dustin have fought and won a significant advantage for the Blackfyre cause at the battle of Nunn’s Deep they are now marching toward the Rock. The hand requests that we march in full strength to aid Lord Lefford in defending the Rock from these traitors.”

There was silence for a moment before Mern Redwyne spoke. “What will you do my lord?”

Garth looked at his old friend and said solemnly. “I will do my duty. Maester Orwyle send the ravens out, the banners must be called and these rebels must be stopped. Mern I want you to assemble the fleet, and set sail for the Iron Islands at once, we must neutralize Pyke as soon as possible. Take Pyke and you take half of Daeron Stark’s power at sea.”

“What about White Harbour my lord? Surely that must be taken care of as well?” Mern asked.

“Aye but first we must deal with the Ironborn, then we shall hit White Harbour.” Garth replied.

And so the ravens were sent, the banners were called, 40,000 men answered Garth Tyrell’s summons, the Lords Rowan, Tarly, Hightower, Florent, and the Red Apple Fossoways came to Highgarden with all their strength. The rebel Reacher Lords were led by Darius Peake, son of the late Gormon Peake, and the houses that joined him were the Green Apple Fossoways, Lords Beesbury, Appleton, Blackbar, Caswell and Varner. The fact that House Osgrey remained neutral surprised Garth, he had expected them to join with the rebel lords, but a reminder from his uncle set him straight, it was likely that Addam Osgrey’s wife Rohanne Webber had pressurized her husband from staying neutral.

It mattered not, the first battle that Garth was ever truly involved in happened at Uplands, the forces of the loyalist Reachmen and the rebel Reachmen clashed for three days, much blood was shed, Garth himself fought like a man possessed swinging his great big war axe like it was nothing more than a spoon. He used it to cleave the heads of hundreds of men during the three days, lopping left, right and centre until the axe, his armour and the ground around Uplands were covered in the blood and bodies of countless rebels. He even dealt the blow that killed his old friend Ser Raymun Appleton, an axe swing that first took off Raymun’s hand and then another swing and his friend’s headless body fell down to the ground, as the sound of battle drowned out Garth’s screams.

On the fourth day Garth awoke to the familiar smell of smoke and fire, and rotting corpses. But when he pushed open the flap to his tent, he was surprised to see that the enemy tents had all gone, vanished in the morning mist. He found his uncle staring out into the mist, a strange expression on his face. “Where have they gone uncle?”

“Fled, disappeared for they know they are close to victory.” Leo Tyrell whispered.

“How do you know that uncle?” Garth asked, fear stabbing at him, had they somehow got to Highgarden and Denise?

“There was a raven in the night. Daeron Stark has defeated Lord Brynden Tully’s host in the Neck, the Twins are his as well, a boy lord sits as hostage and Lord of the Crossing. Robb Reyne smashed Lord Lefford’s host at Pendric, he marches closer to Casterly Rock. Pyke has been freed by northmen led by Steffon Cassel, Gerion Lannister slain, Tybolt Lannister is stuck on Fair Isle.” His uncle said softly.

Garth felt something drop inside of him. “We must march back to Highgarden then and regroup.”

His uncle turned to him then and said “No we cannot turn back for Highgarden. Our duty to the Reach now means we must fight to ensure that we still hold Highgarden once this war is done. We must march north.”

Garth was about to protest when he saw the sense in his uncle’s words. “I shall send word to Standfast and Coldmoat, Addam Osgrey shall have the job of removing the rebel lords from power. We must march north you say uncle, Devon Tarly must needs deal with those rebellious Riverlords, and I shall march west to deal with the westermen and the northmen.”

He saw his uncle nod in approval and felt a sense of pride stir inside of him. And so the orders were given, 10,000 men marched with Lord Devon Tarly from Uplands to meet a royalist host being mustered by Lord Brynden Tully’s uncle Steffon Blackwood at the Stoney Sept. 10,000 men would march under Garth’s leadership to the Westerlands to protect Casterly Rock for as long as they could, it would be a long and bloody war Garth could that now. How it would end, he still knew not, but however it ended, House Tyrell would continue to Grow Strong.


	18. Imperium

**Daeron Stark**

It was raining lightly outside, it always seemed to be raining at the Twins, even the last time he had been here there had only been one clear day, and that too had been the day he had burnt Daeron the Good’s banner. Some of the lords joked that it was a sign from the old gods, that they were raining on Aerys Targaryen’s reign as king, and that soon Aemon would sit the Iron Throne, Daeron was not entirely convinced himself, for one thing more rain would mean that the Green Fork was liable to flooding, and that in itself could delay their progress, no they could not afford more rain. He was looking outside the window of what had once been Lord Petyr Frey’s solar, the man who had been Lord of the Crossing when Daemon had rebelled, had not been so willing to allow them to pass, a bunch of savage northmen and traitors he had called them. He supposed that was only right, for Frey at least, Aegor and one of the man’s many daughters had been betrothed, a betrothal that had been broken after Daemon had died and his battles with him. Now that daughter was more than likely married to that oaf Butterwell, in a much poorer castle. It mattered not Petyr Frey was rotting in the ground now, when the fool had refused to allow Daeron and his men to cross, he had left Daeron with no choice, the Twins had been sacked. His guardsmen killed, his soldiers either killed or fled, now the Twins were Daeron’s by conquest and Petyr Frey’s eight year old son Walder was Lord of the Crossing.

He turned away from the window; it would not do to get lost in his thoughts now. He still had a war to plan, they held the Twins, Lord Tully was a prisoner in Moat Cailin but the man’s uncle was amassing a host at Riverrun last they had heard, and the man was not like to hand the castle over to Daeron, not like last time. There would be more battles fought, and more blood spilt before they could seat Aemon on the Iron Throne, he only hoped that if Bloodraven were to march the gods would be so kind as to pit the kinslayer against him, oh how he would love that, to kill that red eyed bastard once and for all. He walked to the door of the solar opened it and then turning to Edrick Strongaxe a member of his Winter’s Guard who stood on guard outside, Daeron said “Send for Maester Walys, Prince Aemon and Lords Umber, Dreadstark and her Grace.” The man bowed, and then Daeron turned to his brother Theon and said “Theon come in, we have much to speak of and I wish to speak to you of some of it before Lords Umber and Karstark and our brother begin firing questions at me.” He saw his brother smirk at that, but as he walked in Theon became very somber, he had been wont to do that a lot as of late, ever since he and Jeyne had stopped being whatever they had been before, it was starting to get on Daeron’s nerves.

His brother sat down in the chair opposite Daeron’s and once Daeron himself was seated, he waited a moment and then said. “I have received news from Aegor at Winterfell,” Theon leaned forward expectantly. “It seems my son received a raven from Dagon, the Iron Islands are free from the Lannisters, but Meryn Redwyne has landed his fleet at Lannisport and his men are fighting Torrhen Dustin and the Blackfyre Westermen. We shall need to decide soon what must be done. And if we are to make young Lord Walder our ally in the future, we must seal it with an alliance. Loath as I am to marry my daughter to a southerner now, perhaps Eleana would be the best bet.”

Theon was silent for a moment before he said “I do not think Eleana will wish to marry him Your Grace. No offense Your Grace, but I do not think Eleana wishes to marry anyone at all, whatever gift it is that those direwolves of your children gave them, she seems to be the most affected, and marrying her to a boy like Walder Frey could only harm her more.”

Daeron sighed. It would be just like his brother to tell him the truth directly, he knew it would be true, still he had to find out exactly what his daughter wanted, she would do her duty to her kingdom and her family if it meant ending the needless bloodshed that occurred everytime they marched south toward the Twins. He was about to say as much when a knock on the door heralded the arrivals of Lord Hothar Umber, Lord Domeric Karstark, Lord Jon Royce, his brother Cregan Dreadstark, Lord Jonnel Manderly and Daeron’s wife Dacey and his nephew the one they were all fighting for Aemon Blackfyre. All had fought hard at the Neck and in taking the Twins, and he knew they were confident that this could be the battle that saw Aemon on the throne. Aemon himself wanted it to be the war that saw him on the throne, he knew his nephew was impatient to win and to be crowned, that he no longer wanted his family to have to live off the hand outs that he thought Daeron was giving him, Daeron worried that his nephew’s impatience to be crowned would get him killed, but as such he refrained from saying so, for the time being.

“I thank you for coming at this early hour my lords, my lady. As you know Lord Tully rots in a cell in Moat Cailin under Edwyle’s supervision, the Mormonts have also arrived with their strength in Winterfell to help defend it should any southerner get past Lord Beron at White Harbour. My son has sent word from Winterfell, the Iron Islands are completely free of Lannister control, and Tybolt Lannister fled back to Fair Isle with his tail between his legs.” At that there was much cheering, no one in the north liked the Lannisters not after the Old Lion had betrayed his friend’s memory and sided with the Dornish. “However, he writes that Mern Redwyne has brought the Fleet of the Arbor to dock at Lannisport and his men, numbering some 3,000 are helping Lord Lefford deal with Torrhen Dustin and the northmen under his command as well as the Westerlords loyal to Aemon. I would have your thoughts on what our course of action should be. Shall we head straight to aid our brethren in the Westerlands or take Riverrun and plan from there?” Daeron already knew what he was going to do, what was crucial for their plans, but he wished to see what the others would say, especially Aemon.

There was silence for a moment before Hothar Umber, the loud and proud lord of Last Hearth boomed. “Well Your Grace, personally I would lead the men down from this bunghole and across the Pendric Hills and smash Lord Lefford’s host from behind and then send the Redwyne lad scampering back to the sea with his breeches down around his ankles.”

There was much laughing at that and Daeron could not help but smile as well. Aemon though was more serious when he said “We must march immediately for the Golden Tooth, send a force of men to take it and Lord Lefford will come scampering back to defend his precious gold. That’s when the rest of the men can kill Lord Redwyne and his men. We have to defend our men no matter the cost.”

There it was, that spark, that sense of fighting till the last breath for the men who had sworn their lives to him, Daeron felt a tickle of pride for his nephew, this man who seemed in some ways less like Daemon and more like his mother, the woman Daeron had never met but had heard much about. Daemon would never have let a man die blindly whilst he hid in a castle, Daeron knew that, and it had cost his brother his life, and spared Ser Gwayne Corbray his. He would not allow his nephew to make the same mistake. It seemed Cregan shared the same view. “That is all well and good. But this is not a song, this is war proper, and as such we must take Riverrun. Take Riverrun and the kinslayer sitting on the Iron Throne will listen, he will take us seriously, then we can destroy him and King’s Landing will be free. Torrhen is a smart man, he knows when to fight and when not to. I assume Your Grace has sent orders for Dagon and Steffon to fight to his aid yes?” Daeron nodded. “Good then I believe we take Riverrun.”

Daeron saw Aemon was about to protest, so he spoke up quickly. “I agree with you Lord Cregan, there is no point in allowing our men to bleed needlessly in the West. Torrhen Dustin is smart he will know when to fall back. It is Riverrun we must take, take that and the kingdoms will shake. We march for Riverrun at first light.” With that he dismissed them all, though Dacey stayed behind after. “What is it?” Daeron asked, removing the crown from his head, and ruffling his hair.

“Why did you summon us all here if you had already made your mind up my love?” She asked as she put her arms around his chest.

Daeron stared out of the window, and watched as Aemon stalked off to gods alone knew where. He sighed “Because I did not wish to hear what Aemon would say if I simply told him we were to march for Riverrun. He is so like Daemon, I fear it will be the end of him.”

Dacey bit his earlobe and he could feel his control beginning to slip. She murmured into his ear “But is it not he we are fighting for? This son of your beloved brother, to seat on that Iron Chair? Why not give him command of the forces next time?”

Dacey was nibbling more insistently on his earlobe, demanding he turn round and kiss her, and so he relented and did just that, but he did more, he pushed her onto the table, and began removing the various items of clothing that separated them. Kissing each new part of skin that was exposed to him he answered her, his voice sounding rough to his own ears “I will, but I will make sure he does not try anything that could get him killed.” After that there was nothing more to Daeron than making love to his wife.

Later that day, just before dinner was served Daeron was in the godswood of the Twins sitting near the rather small and pitiful heart tree cleaning Ice, when he heard a twig snap somewhere close by. Turning to see what had caused the twig to snap he found himself looking at the seven year old Lord of the Crossing, Walder Frey. The boy looked terrified when he realised that Daeron had seen him, and looked as if he was about to flee, smiling slightly Daeron stopped cleaning Ice and said “You can stay you know. You don’t have to leave, just because I’ve seen you.”

Walder Frey nervously edged forward to sit on a stump of a tree in front of Daeron. The boy truly was small, smaller than Aegor had been at that age, smaller than even Jorah and Brandon were; he looked exactly like his father as well, with that weasly appearance and the defining weak chin of House Frey. “What is it you wish to ask of me, that had you hovering there like some scared deer?” Daeron asked lightly.

“I, I wondered what it’s like to be king. Your Grace.” Walder Frey stammered.

Daeron looked at the boy and then jokingly said “Why are you considering breaking free of the Iron Throne and forming your own kingdom?” The boy looked mortified and seemed as if he was going to run away. Sighing Daeron put down the whetstone and stood up and sheathed Ice, before sitting back down again. “Being King, you wish to know what being king is like? I shall tell you know young Walder it is not something that anyone should wish for themselves. Oh yes, everyone thinks being king is something wonderful and joyous, and it can be truly it can be, when your crops are growing and your people have food in their belly, more food than they know what to do with, and there is peace and happiness in the land. That is when being King is what the songs make it out to be. However, during times like now, when there is war, or when there is a famine or a drought, that is when there is the true test of being king, of being a lord even.” The boy’s eyes seemed as wide as saucers when Daeron looked at him. He continued. “A king and a lord’s primary duty is to ensure that the land and the people he rules over are properly provided for. That they have enough food to eat during the long winters and the summers. That they have the tools to ensure that they can properly harvest their crops and produce the goods needed to sustain them. It is a King’s duty to ensure that his people feel safe and secure in their homes, for how can a man claim to be king if he cannot ensure that his people feel protected in their own lands.

“But what if one’s duty to one’s family and the people one rules over conflict. Then what does one do?” Walder Frey asked with all the seriousness a seven year old could muster.

Daeron looks the boy straight in the eye when he replies. “One’s people must always come first, without the peasants and the lords who pledge you their allegiance; you would have no land to rule over. It is a lord’s duty to ensure that those people are provided for as best as possible, that they have the tools to ensure their prosperity. A lord and a king must then make sure that one’s family is provided for, for with the people of the land provided for, there will be more for the family to have and care for. Only then once your people and your family have been provided for should you consider the outside world. For the outside will not care if one of yours lives or dies, but you will, as their lord and guardian you will. Furthermore, Walder, when you grow to an adult you will wed and have children, many children if the gods are kind. You must never leave any of your children or any of your family out in the cold, to fend for them. For if you have the means to provide for them, then provide for them you should. No man is less liked or thought well off than the man who leaves his family off to rot. Remember this Walder, Provide for your people and your family, and they will be loyal to you unto death.”

With that he gets up and walks with Walder Frey back into the Twins ready for the war that is come. They leave the Twins the next day, as soon as the first rays of the sun have begun to creep into the sky, they send out scouting patrols regularly and just as they are stopping their march to eat lunch on their fourth day out from the Twins, a rider comes back bearing news of an army massing at Oldstones. “Who commands this army?” Daeron questions.

The rider near breathless manages to pant that the host is commanded by Lords Piper, Vance and Mallister and that they are assembling at Oldstones, when questioned as to how many men this host has, the man says he counted 6,000 before he had break and flee before being spotted. This news leads to much excited murmuring amongst the various lords and soldiers gathered, and Daeron calls a war council to get the thoughts of his lords bannermen. “6,000 men. Only 6,000 men? We have three times their number what with the soldiers that Frey gave use and the men that joined us from the Three Sisters. We can easily destroy them.” Lord Hothar booms.

“It could be a trap Your Grace. We know Ser Matthew Tully is not a stupid man, he might have assembled a much larger host somewhere else, perhaps in the Whispering Wood, in the hopes that we bleed ourselves at Oldstones and then he can attack us and capture yourself or Prince Aemon.” Lord Domeric cautions.

“Well if it is that you are worried about Lord Karstark then why not sit here and wait whilst the real men get the glory.” Borros Flint, the heir to the Mountain clans taunts.

“Enough. I will not have us bickering now my lords. We shall not go to Oldstones, not we shall wait at Hag’s Mire for Lords Piper, Vance and Mallister and their 6,000. Borros since you are so eager for battle you shall lead 3,000 men and harass the Vance host, if I know these men, Vance will be leading the left, lead him away from the main body, and kills his men but I want Vance alive. Aemon, you shall take the van, but Beric Dustin and Jeyne Mormont shall be there as your protectors. Dacey shall be in the van as well, Piper will most likely lead the van, he is old and experienced and a skilled warrior.” Daeron said.

“And will you take the right uncle?” Aemon asked.

Daeron looked at his nephew then and said in a voice filled with iron. “Aye, and Lord Mallister will never make it back to Seagard alive.”

With that the council meeting broke up and they continued their march to Hag’s Mire, where Daeron ordered that no tents be set up “We want no word of our presence reaching the lords until Borros has led Vance away, Piper and Mallister will follow.” And so on the seventh day after they marched from the Twins Borros Flint set out with 3,000 men to harass Lord Vance and his men, Daeron sat atop his horse, dressed from head to toe in armour, dark blue with the sigil of House Stark of Winterfell on it- a white dragon and grey direwolf combatant on a field of grey- beside him Theon was moving nervously around on his horse, nervous perhaps about whether or not Jeyne would survive, Daeron said nothing though, he would not offer false promises. Though he did breathe a sigh of relief when a man bearing arms of House Norrey came and told them “Borros Flint has captured Lord Vance Your Grace. Lords Mallister and Piper are hot on his trail.” Daeron nodded, and then raised Ice high into the air, and the battle of Hag’s Mire began properly.

Hacking and slashing, a cut to the left, a slash to the right, raising Ice to defend himself against the blows men sent his way. Hacking, slashing and ducking, dodging, hacking again. On and on it went, this dance he knew so well now, he was killing men left, right and centre, burying his sword in them and sending them to their graves or watching as their bodies were swallowed by the marshes and the mud and rain. It was far too easy, his sword was wet and red with the blood of the men he had slain, beside him he could hear the roar of the battle raging on, men crying and dying, or pleading for their mothers, crying out for relief, relief that other men were more than happy to give them.

Eventually he had managed to cut his way through to Lord Mallister, a young man no older than Aegor perhaps. He even had some of Aegor’s cockiness. “Ah well if it isn’t the wolf traitor. Come to march to your death have you Lord Stark?” Mallister taunted.

Daeron was unimpressed by the young man’s taunting, he remembered the boy’s father, now that was a warrior to be admired. This green boy? Not so much. He said nothing but spurred his horse on and in one swift blow had disarmed Lord Mallister, with his sword pointed at the boy’s throat he said “Give me one reason why I should not take you hostage? A valuable hostage to go alongside your liege lord. Your father would be disappointed in you Mallister.”

“My father hated you Stark. You’re nothing but a traitor, the spawn of a savage and a whore. And your nephew will never sit the throne. Not once Bloodraven comes from King’s Landing.” Mallister spat.

Daeron felt the rage build inside of him, but calmly said “Bloodraven will be dead by the time my nephew sits the throne. As will you.” And with one sure stroke, just as he had disarmed the man, Daeron lopped his head off. The battle was won, it seemed his men stopped fighting the minute they saw him ride past them with Lord Mallister’s head in one of his hand’s, Ice strapped to his back. Mallister’s soldiers were all dead by this point, as were Lord Piper’s. It had been a rout, and there was a celebratory feeling amongst the northmen that night, they had won three battles on the trot, and most of the Riverlands strength was either lying dead in the Mire, or had turned to fight for Aemon. Daeron however, had something else to occupy his mind, Dacey had fought Lord Piper, and though she had killed the man she had been deeply wounded, and so instead of celebrating with his men, Daeron was sat by his wife’s bedside waiting for the maester to finish with her.

That was how Aemon found him, his nephew smelt of beer and fire, but he would not begrudge him that. “How is she doing uncle?” his nephew asked.

“Well, the maester says she shall be fine. She took some serious blows but she will be fine. She won’t be able to ride for two or three weeks though nor will she be able to fight in that time.” Daeron replied tiredly.

He expected his nephew to protest, he did not expect his nephew to say what he said next. “That’s fine uncle. You must stay with her. This war is being fought to seat me on the throne, I must lead these men so that they know what sort of a man and commander I can be. So that I will have their respect when I sit the throne. I cannot hide behind the shadows any longer uncle. I shall lead the men when we march on Riverrun. You stay and look after Aunt Dacey.”

Daeron looked at his nephew and saw the conviction in his eyes, so he merely said “Make sure you keep Theon and Jeyne close by you always. Beric and Edrick shall stay here. The rest may ride with you.”

“Of course uncle.” Aemon said before he bowed and left the tent.

Three days later, Daeron watched as his men and his nephew rode off further south to take Riverrun. He walked back into the tent and sat beside Dacey who was still asleep due to the milk of the poppy the maester had given her and he prayed to the old gods that she would be better, and that they could win. They needed to win.

It took Dacey three weeks to fully recover, in which time Daeron received reports through ravens and from riders on how Aemon and the rest of the campaign were doing. He learnt that Dagon and Steffon had landed at Fair Isle and had captured the castle there, that they had landed at the Crag and taken it and were slowly working their way inland. He learnt that the Riverlords who had declared for Aemon were being led by one Lord Jasper Goodbrook, and were slowly converging on Riverrun to meet with Aemon, who had managed to take the castle with no bloodshed, what with the castle being held by a garrison of only 400 men.

When Daeron, Dacey and the 500 northmen who had been left with them at Hag’s mire arrived at Riverrun they found it decorated with the black three headed dragon of House Blackfyre, Aemon sitting in attendance in the Great Hall as Lords Goodbrook, Darry, Ryger and Mooton all declared fealty to him. Adding some 2,000 men to their cause. Later that day as they sat at council discussing the developments in the west, the castle’s maester brought them a letter from King’s Landing signed in Bloodraven’s hand obviously intended for the castellan of Riverrun to send on to Lord Brynden Tully’s uncle. “Tully is assembling a host at the Stoney Sept with help from Lord Tarly, Lord Tyrell is marching from Highgarden to join ---them. They plan on meeting with Bloodraven and his host at Rushing Falls. We shall need to separate the two hosts. That my nephew is where you shall win your crown.” Daeron said.

* * *

 

**Addam Osgrey**

“I have to go Rohanne. I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Aemon needs me, he needs the strength that we can offer him!” Addam said for what felt like the thousandth time since the damnable letter came from King’s Landing, stating that they were going to war.

“Why? Why should you have to fight another man’s battles Addam? Look what happened when your father fought for Daemon Blackfyre at Redgrass, he lost most of his land and he lost his wife and daughter, and his two eldest sons. You lost most of your family because of the black dragons. Why must you fight?!” His wife protested.

“Because Aemon is my friend, and I swore to him that I would see him on the throne. He has the true claim, not that bastard Aerys, nor the kinslayer who controls him! The Targaryens are not the rightful kings, Aemon is, he bears the sword. The sword that all Targaryen kings from the conqueror down to Aemon’s grandfather wielded.” Addam argued.

“Yes but he only lives because of his uncle’s help and only stands a chance of winning so long as his uncle continue to supports him. He only has one kingdom supporting him Addam, Aerys Targaryen has Bloodraven and the rest of Westeros supporting him. Including the Tyrells. I and the children can’t afford to lose you, not now, not now that we have a family.” Rohanne said, her eyes beginning to swell with tears, and immediately Addam felt guilty. He had loved his wife since he was a little boy, he had married her after Redgrass and they had been happily married for thirteen years now, but god damn it he owed his friend his life, he would have to fight for him somehow.

“It’s not just that Rohanne. I owe Aemon my life. When his brother and father fell, he came for me, he killed that pox nosed bastard who was trying to kill me, the bastard who killed my brothers, and he saved me. I owe him my life, his uncle as well. I cannot turn my back on them, not now. Not when they could win.” Addam said, pleading with his wife to understand him.

“Very well then my love, but please for the children’s sake if not for mine, please remain neutral until we see how the war goes for either side.” Rohanne asked of him, with those great big eyes of hers, he could never say not to her, and so he found himself agreeing, and when she smiled at him then and they made love, later on he realised he had been ensnared by his wife, the red spider as some were calling her.

Every day for the next few months, Addam would wait patiently for Maester Samwell to bring him the letters that were coming from his friends in the Riverlands and the Westerlands and even in the Reach itself, bringing news about the war, and how Aemon was doing. That was how he learnt that Lord Brynden Tully and his host of 7,000 men made up of men from the Riverlands and the Vale had been defeated in the swamps of the neck, Tully captured, the rest of his men killed, it was how he heard of Blackfyre loyalists victories in the Iron Islands the repelling of Tybolt Lannister and the killing of Gerion Lannister, it was how he heard of the capturing of the Twins and the taking of Riverrun, and how he heard of the Battle of the Uplands and the fleeing of the rebel reacherlords. When that news came to him at Coldmoat, he was watching Rohanne play with their children, their two daughters Sophia and Alysanne and their two sons Robert and Denys, he read the letter and felt a pool of dread coil in his stomach as he read his instructions from Garth Tyrell the man who was his liege. He would have to hunt down those he had fought alongside at Redgrass and bring them to the King’s Justice.

He put down the letter and spoke with Rohanne once the children had been taken inside. “It appears I must march for war now my love.” He says as calmly as he can.

Rohanne brushes part of her hair behind her and looks at him with piercing eyes. “On whose command?” she asks.

“My liege lord,” he replies and sees the shock register in her eyes. “It appears that Lords Fossoway, Beesbury, Varner, Appleton and Caswell have forgotten how to hold their own in a fight. They fled before Garth Tyrell could have them all executed, he writes that they shall be passing by Coldmoat soon enough. I am tasked with capturing them and then executing them.”

“And will you?” he hears his wife ask.

He sighs, “I must, you know I must my love. It would not do well to refuse to do this when I have already refused to join that idiot Garth on his march against them. To do so would bring the wrath of the crown down upon us, and I do not wish to be thrown in a black cell for killing a kinslayer who serves as hand. I must go and do my duty, but I will not kill all of them. I cannot kill all of them.”

“What will you do then, with the lords you do not kill?” Rohanne asks.

“Allow them to flee. We have allies on the coast, ships will take them across the narrow sea to Bittersteel and the Golden Company. It is the least I can do.” He whispers softly.

“And who will you kill then?” Rohanne asks.

He closes his eyes briefly to hide the pain that he knows saying the name will cause. “Raymun.”

He feels his wife take his hand and only then does he realise that it is shaking. He opens his eyes and sees his wife looking at him sympathetically. “Are you sure that is necessary, why not bring them the heads of Beesbury or Caswell? Why Raymun?”

“Because that is the only way to prove to the Targaryens that I will not fight for Aemon.” He replies his voice shaking. “By killing Raymun, it means I, I don’t hold to old allegiances.”

His wife merely holds his hand tighter and for that he is grateful. The next day after having said goodbye to Rohanne and their children he mounts his horse and rides off with the men from Standfast and Coldmoat, numbering some 1500 men in total, along the way they are joined by men from House Rowan bolstering their number to 3000. They ride in silence most of the way but when they stop near the Old Man’s Town, Ser Wendell Webber Rohanne’s cousin sits down next to him at the fire that night and questions him. “How do you know that this is where the traitors will go Osgrey? How do you know that they will head towards Fishermen’s Point?”

Osgrey does not answer for a moment, his wife’s cousin has always been ambitious and grasping and he knows for a fact that Webber once spoke with Rohanne’s father about perhaps marrying Rohanne to himself instead of Addam. So he chooses his words carefully when he replies. “I know because it will be Ser Raymun leading them, not Beesbury or Caswell, and they will try and flee across the narrow sea to Tyrosh and Bittersteel.”

“And you will not let them do that is that it? Trying to prove your loyalty to the crown and remove the taint your fool of a father left on my house is that it Osgrey?” Webber taunts.

Addam merely grits his teeth and says tightly “No, I am doing the duty asked of me by my liege lord Webber, but I guess you are too stupid to understand what duty is aren’t you. Now if you have nothing interesting to say I am going to bed.”

Three days later they arrive at Fishermen’s Point and find the tents of Lord Beesbury, Varner, Appleton and Fossoway along with their banners and their men. The vast number of men that House Caswell could provide are lacking, must have bent the knee or been captured. Addam rides out to greet Mace Beesbury and Raymun by himself. No one amongst the Standfast or Coldmoat men raise a protest and the men commanded by Ser Alyn Flowers bastard uncle of the boy lord of House Rowan knows Addam as a trustworthy man to know not to question him. “My lords it has been too long.” Addam greets them with forced cheerfulness.

“Aye it has Addam.” Raymun replies.

“Have you come to kill us then Addam? To seal the final nail in your father’s coffin. Betraying his former allies.” Beesbury says in his waspish tone.

Addam nods and says sadly “Aye my lord I have. I have a duty to my family and to my liege lord, and you lot rebelled before the time was ripe, before Aemon held more of Westeros. I must do this duty if I wish to spare my family from the kinslayer’s wrath.”

He hears Raymun sigh then. “Very well, get on with it then and decide which one of us you shall take back as a head with you to appease that bastard kinslayer and old Garth.”

Addam swallows, “I will need to be bloodied first, so that they do not suspect I allowed one of you to get away.”

“Only one?” Beesbury asks, his eyebrows rising high on his head.

“One who will escape the pain of torture and Bittersteel.” Addam says and they all laugh at that, before drawing their swords.

Beesbury swings at him first, Addam blocks the man’s swing and then gives a swing of his own which connects with the man’s throat and slits it, killing the old lord of Beesbury in an instant. Raymun is much harder to fight, much more the skilled opponent, and they duel. Swinging their swords back and forth, cutting, hacking and slashing at each other, until they are both bleeding from a dozen different minor wounds. Addam swings once, and then again, and then again until his friend his on his knees his helm dented so badly that Addam doubts he would recognise him even if he tried to. “Do it Addam, clean and true. Do not hesitate now, like Ser Maron said. Never hesitate. Oh and protect Eve and the children.”

“I will.” Addam says tears filling his eyes and choking his voice. He brings the sword down in one quick arc, and watches as his friend’s head rolls to the floor. He picks it up and then shouts loudly “Flee you bastards, flee and join Bittersteel across the water, and come back stronger, and remember me. Remember me and run.”

Later he will throw the head of Raymun at the feet of Garth Tyrell, and he will tell them “I have killed him, as a sign of my fealty to Aerys Targaryen and the Iron Throne. I have captured Lords Caswell and Appleton, Beesbury is dead, and I know not where Varner is. Ask no more of me.”

He can see that Tyrell wishes to dismiss him, but instead the man says “We march for Rushing Falls to fight Aemon Blackfyre and his northmen, you shall come with us. Kill Blackfyre or Stark and I will forget that you ever arrived late to answer the summons.”


	19. We Do Not Sow

**Dagon**

215 years after Aegon’s Landing and summer was here for the Ironborn, what a glorious summer it would be, Dagon just knew it. The second Blackfyre war as the singers were calling it had started off badly for Dagon and the Ironborn but had gradually improved. The letter from King Daeron had tipped them off to Lannister movements in the summer sea, the building of war galleys, the possible attempts at invasion; the letter had asked that Dagon be alert. He was, he had been alert ever since the Targaryens had sent him and his father and their people on a wild goose chase around the free cities. His father had died on that goose chase, but Dagon had made the Targaryens pay for it, and once the letter from his cousin had come, he had ordered the Iron Fleet prepped and ready, defences were to be raised and men were to be trained.

The Lannisters invaded just after the celebration of the defeat of Nagga, the lions came on war galleys bigger than some of the ships in the Redwyne Fleet, and they had brought flame and destruction to the lesser isles, Harlaw and Pyke had been defended to the bitter end. The Lannisters fought and killed many of Dagon’s bannermen and their children were put to the slaughter, his own goodbrother Lord Blacktyde was slaughtered in front of Dagon’s sister’s very eyes. The fighting to end the siege of Pyke and Harlaw had been fierce, many men had died, and sometimes Dagon can still hear the cries of the dead and dying echoing in the cavern of his mind. His sword had been so covered in blood, stained red that it had broken under the weight of the lives he had taken, at the end Pyke and Harlaw had been liberated and that fool Gerion Lannister lay rotting in the pits of Nagga’s Teeth.

Tybolt Lannister had fled with the remainder of his ships and his men like an animal with its tail between his legs, Dagon had ordered his son Rodrick to take part of the fleet and keep Lannister penned in at Fair Isle, and the banners were called then in that time, and war was brought to the Westerlands. Frustration though had always been a part of Dagon’s life, never good enough to keep up with his father the mighty Quellon Greyjoy, his father would never have allowed Tybolt Lannister to slip away back to the great Casterly Rock, but slip away he had, by the time Dagon arrived at Fair Isle, Lannister and his men had left the island, leaving on little fishing boats. Dagon in his rage ordered Fair Castle sacked and the ships left behind to be burnt, that done he told his son to hold Fair Isle, the Westerlands were waiting for them, and this time Tybolt Lannister would not escape he had sworn the man would not escape.

The invasion was planned in stages, Steffon Cassel had come with men from the mainland to help lift the strain on Pyke, Torrhen Dustin and his men were attacking the Westerlands from the north inward, Dagon deciding that their best chance would be to attack the coastal castles of the Westerlands, ordered his men to do just that. They divided into three, with Dagon and Rodrick leading the bulk of the Iron Fleet, Dagon’s brother Harras the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet took roughly thirty ships with him and Dagon’s younger brother Maron took another twenty ships, each with men on them, the Westerlands would feel the full wrath of the Ironborn that much Dagon had sworn. And so they had, Banefort had burnt, its riches taken, Steffon Cassel and his men had marched from there to join up with Torrhen Dustin who was camped in the Pendric Hills and they had won a mighty victory against Lord Lefford’s host. Next on the list for Dagon had been the Crag, a near ruin when they found it the once prominent stronghold of House Westerling was reduced to rubble by the time the Ironborn were done, on they went, a double pronged attack led by Dagon and Theon planned by Dagon’s son Rodrick ended with the sacking of castle Kayce and the deaths of all of House Kenning. Feastfires was next on the list, but that was when Tybolt Lannister stirred himself from the Rock and that was when the battle truly began.

Steffon Cassel, Torrhen Dustin and Robb Reyne and their men were all in the heart of the Westerlands pillaging and capturing the main castles as they went, last Dagon had heard the Golden Tooth had fallen, as had Oxcross, Ashemark, Sarsfield and Siverhill and Dagon wondered if the objective would be to take the Rock, if it was then he and his men might be able to help with that. Here they were camped outside the gates of Feastfires with 4,000 men Tybolt Lannister was camped on the Lion’s Ridge to the north of their camp with some 1,000 men, the rest of his bannermen had either been killed, defeated or surrendered and bent the knee to Daeron Stark, victory should have been a sure thing for the Ironborn. But Dagon was no longer a green boy, the First Blackfyre War and then the takings in Essos had seen to that, Tybolt Lannister was expecting more men to come and help him, men perhaps from the Reach, Osgrey the coward had betrayed Daeron and Aemon and had fought for the Targaryens, his bannermen had followed. Tarly was marching north or west no one knew but he was marching, where was Lannister expecting the help to come from that was what plagued Dagon night and day.

“Our scouts have returned father.” Dagon heard his son Rodrick say, his son was a big lad, nearly seven feet tall and almost as bulky as Dagon’s own father had been. He was smart as well, his plan to take Kayce had been ingenious. He would make a worthy Lord of Pyke once Dagon’s day came.

“Thank you son, show them to the battle tent.” Dagon replied. He got up from his seat and walked toward the battle tent, dressed in full armour as had been his custom since he had been but a lad.

Dagon entered the tent and waited for his bannermen to enter; one by one they filed in. Stooped old Lord Gormon Botley – who had been a fierce warrior in his day-, Angry young Lord Steffon Harlaw, Harras Pyke the Bastard of Orkmont and proud Maron Redspear who Dagon’s brother had been named after. These four men were commanders of the ships that made up his portion of the Iron Fleet, the rest were at various other points in either the Westerlands or the Reach destroying what it was the Targaryens claimed to rule. “My lords I believe our scouts have returned, I would hear them speak.”

Two lads, no more than squires perhaps entered the tent breathing heavily. “My lord, we saw men approaching from the east, a big host my lord, some 8,000 men.” They said in unison.

Dagon was silent for a moment before he asked calmly “And what banner did they fly?”

“The huntsman of House Tarly and the three headed dragon of House Targaryen my lord.” One of the squires replied.

Dagon smiled, well so it was Tarly who was coming to aid Lannister, perhaps he could make use of this. “And you say they have some 8,000 men with them do you?”

“Yes my lord. We counted as many as 8,000 before we had to flee lest we be seen.” One of the lads replied.

“Lord Steffon have your men seen any movement from Tybolt Lannister or his men?” Dagon enquired.

“No my lord. The Lion remains firmly sat where his host has been sat for the past few days. On top of the Lion’s Ridge.” Lord Steffon replied.

Dagon smiled once more and said. “Good, well we shall not wait for Lord Tarly’s host to arrive here. We shall destroy Tybolt Lannister’s host then we shall make for Lannisport and burn whatever ships remain docked in the port there, then we shall join Harras in destroying the Reach one piece at a time.”

“Is that wise my lord?” Gormon Botley asked. “Would it not be better to send a raven to either Lord Cassel or Lord Dustin and ask for them to send us aid, so we might better deal with Tarly and Lannister?” Cautious as ever was old Lord Gormon Botley, Dagon remembered his father once telling him that Botley had been a proud and fierce fighter during his time, but that old age had turned him into a fickle and cautious old woman.

“Aye it is wise, we do not have the means to deal with Tarly and Lannister both, and Lannister’s host cuts off any possible chance to help reaching us in time. No we must deal with Lannister, let Tarly rot in the hells as we burn Lannister and his men and then take Tarly’s home.” Dagon replied.

“Who shall lead the charge my lord?” Asked Harras Peake, bold as ever.

Dagon was silent for a moment, Peake had fought in the first Blackfyre war and had proven himself, as had Botley, but if Rodrick was to lead this men when Dagon was gone, he would have to lead them and show them how good he was. “My son shall lead the charge. You shall take orders from him.”

“And where will you be my lord?” Asked Steffon Harlaw.

“Why leading the reserve my lad. Someone needs to keep a calm head during the carnage.” He said with a smile on his face.

The lords bowed and left after that, with only Dagon and his son left behind. “Father, why have you given the command to me and not taken it yourself, surely the men would rather follow you?” he heard his son ask.

Dagon sighed. “You will be Lord of Pyke one day soon, and Lord of the Iron Islands. You must learn how to lead your men in battle and it is all well and good planning for war, but for our bannermen to truly respect us, we must show them in battle how capable we are. I had my time in Qarth, my father showed them during the conquest of the Summer Islands, now it is your time. Show them you can lead, and they will be your men till death.”

“I will do you proud.” His son said before he too left the tent, leaving Dagon alone with his thoughts. _I could not tell him that I am dying, no more than I could tell my own cousin. In time he will know why I truly asked him to lead and he will thank me for it._

The next day Dagon was mounted on a blood coloured warhorse, dressed in head to foot in black as night armour, with his kraken helm on his head, waiting with some 500 men in the reserve of the Ironborn army, waiting for the horn to be blown to signal the start of battle. They’d sent out riders towards the ridge under Rodrick’s direction, with Dagon’s son stating that Tybolt Lannister was a cautious man but that he was still a lion, and his pride had been wounded, he was likely to follow the riders right back to them and then they would fall upon him and cut his host to pieces.

Dagon waited patiently, and just when he found his patience about to snap he heard it, the sound of a horn being blown loud and clear, once, twice, and the thrice. Dagon drew his sword from its scabbard and yelled for his men to charge. And off they went, in a sea of blue and red, the Ironborn fought the Lannister host commanded by Tybolt Lannister. Dagon himself hacked and slashed his way through the men he came up against, hacking a man’s head off here, stabbing a man through the gut there, left and right his opponents came and left and right they fell.

His sword was stained red with blood, the ground filled with bodies when he came across a man with a boar on his armour. The man wielded a war hammer and seemed to be much bigger than anyone Dagon had ever fought before. It made no matter Dagon would bring him down all the same. A swing, a thrust and a parry, and Dagon had drawn first blood, a cut just above where the man’s heart would be. The men retaliated with a swing of his own, Dagon managed to block it and the swing after that, and the swing after that. His opponent kept going though, swinging and hacking away at Dagon’s defences until both of them were tired and Dagon had more than his fair share of bruises.

Eventually Dagon managed to find a gap in the big man’s defences, and swung his sword with all his might at that gap, he managed to nick the man’s armour and just before he managed to pull his horse back the brute swung his war hammer not at Dagon but at his horse, bringing it falling down with an almighty scream, Dagon weighed down by his armour and the ringing in his head, was not able to move away from his horse in time and held back a scream as he felt the full weight of the horse fall on top of his legs crushing them.

The giant of a man walked towards Dagon, his hammer raised high into the air, Dagon could not move his legs, let alone find the strength to raise his sword to defend himself from the blow he knew was coming. Instead he said a silent prayer to the Drowned God that he would find peace and that Velena and their children would know happiness, he did not scream or cry out as the war hammer was brought down onto his chest, he did not utter a sound. As the battle of the Lion’s Ridge rained on around him Dagon Greyjoy was killed by a war hammer on the fourth day of the sixth month of the 215th Year after Aegon’s Landing. Another death in the Second Blackfyre War.

* * *

 

**Aerys the Book King**

It was summer in Westeros, the heat and humidity in King’s Landing alone was enough to prove that. Yet for Aerys Targaryen, the First of his name, it seemed like winter had never left. His whole world had been turned upside down since he had become king, since Baelor had bloody gone and died during the tourney mishap at Ashford, since the Great Spring Sickness had come and claimed his father and two of his nephews. He had never wanted to be king, he would have been happy to become a maester had his father allowed it, even now he was tempted to abdicate and become a maester if things between Brynden and Maekar were not so tense. Brynden was too used to running the kingdoms to accept someone such as Maekar who was so completely different to Aerys and Brynden that Aerys seriously doubted that their partnership would end in anything less than another blasted war.

He knew Maekar had been insulted by his choice to appoint their bastard uncle as hand instead of him, his own flesh and blood, but Aerys had his reasons for doing so. Brynden was a great believer in the future, and he knew more about what Aerys read and even sometimes dreamed about than anyone ever had. This was largely because he actually paid attention and cared about these things as much as Aerys did, the two of them had always been close growing up as children, and that had not changed. It was why Aerys had made Brynden hand, so that Brynden could rule and deal with the realm and the north and Aerys could deal with the future and the darkness that was coming.

Of course one thing that Aerys had not counted on was that there would be another blasted Blackfyre war so close to the ending of the Bolton rebellion. Really he supposed he should have tried to stop whatever schemes it was that Brynden had been cooking whilst they were yet to be out of the pan, but of course he had never thought that Egg and that knight of his would get caught up in it all and that he would be forced to banish them from King’s Landing for aiding a Blackfyre, surely Maekar would have instilled some sense into his children? Then again looking at Daeron and Aerion perhaps not, one was a drunkard and the other had been half mad when Aerys had last seen him, it was why he had never wished to have children even though he know knew that perhaps he had better have gotten round to it.

He could not get the words he had read in the book of prophecies of Daenys the Dreamer that clearly stated the end of his house as he knew it in smoke and fire. The words he remembered them clearer than he did his own mother’s face sometimes. _Darkness shall fall on us, the blood of the dragon. One man’s folly shall cause the fourth son of the fourth son to come to power, and his reign shall end in fire and grief, treachery caused by love shall beget the end of the golden era. The mad one’s son shall cause the joining of Ice and Fire and shall end the rule of his house, our glorious house. Wolf shall slay dragon as the coming darkness spreads, the light shall fade from our eyes._

The words haunted him, he understood bits and pieces of them, he knew Maekar would come to the throne, had dreamed of that ever since they had all been little children, before Daemon had rebelled, before grandfather had died. He had always known Maekar would be king, he had just not known when. And he had never known that his brother’s sons would be a drunkard, a madman never knew that. Perhaps more treachery would follow towards the end of his reign, he was not sure. There were many things Aerys was not sure about nowadays, but now was not the time to brood on them; he had a small council meeting to attend.

Here he was now sat in the king’s chair, where his father, his grandfather and great grandfather had all sat before him, he often felt inferior to those who sat in council which was why Brynden often took his place, there was no need for him to worry about the realm, but now there was. Brynden sat to his right, as hand of the king, Maekar to his left as an advisor, Michael Stone a bastard from Heart’s Home sat to Maekar’s right serving as master of whispers a man Brynden assured him was most trustworthy. Lord Ullrick Dayne served as master of laws sat to Brynden’s right and to Ullrick’s right sat Grand Maester Justin, the seat next to him was empty where Tybolt Lannister would usually sit, Lord Commander Roland Crakehall sat directly facing Aerys. Aerys cleared his throat and spoke, “My lords thank you for coming here today. I would hear reports on how the war and my kingdom are doing.”

It was Brynden who spoke first as usual. “Your Grace, reports from the war are as thus. The northmen as of present have captured Nunn’s Deep, the Golden Tooth, Sarsfield and Siverhill. The Ironborn continue to sack their way around the coast of the Westerlands and have started launching attacks on the Reach, though our sources confirm that Tybolt Lannister engaged the host led by Dagon Greyjoy on the Lion’s Ridge and won a hard fought battle. Greyjoy was slain by a knight of House Crakehall, his son Rodrick retreated to their ships and has set sail for Lannisport, Lord Tarly and his host of men are hot on the traitors trail.” Brynden paused, and Aerys said a quick prayer to the Seven in thanks, with Greyjoy dead Daeron Stark’s chances of holding the West were greatly reduced. Brynden continued. “As you know Lord Tully lies in a cell in Moat Cailin, the Twins are still under northern control, Lords Vance, Piper and Mallister were defeated at Oldstones and Riverrun is in Stark’s hands, yet the Reach remains largely secure, the Blackfyre traitors in the Reach have been surely dealt with, and Lord Redwyne is sailing now to battle the Ironborn who threaten the coast.”

Aerys nodded but before he could reply, Maekar spoke harshly “And what of this host that Garth Tyrell and Tully’s uncle Ser Gawen Rivers are mustering at the Stoney Sept when were you going to mention that Bloodraven?”

Brynden merely smiled at Maekar as if he were a child, and said to Aerys “Aye Your Grace, Lord Garth and Ser Gawen are amassing a host and are waiting for commands from you as to what next they should do. Stark and Blackfyre sit in Riverrun and wait.”

Aerys was silent for a moment the words he had read playing on in his head, and even though he knew Maekar would advice caution he said. “Tell them to ready for a march, Jasper Arryn’s men are coming in from the Vale are they not?” His uncle nodded, Aerys went on feeling more confident. “Well then tell them to meet at the Inn of the Kneeling Man, Aemon Blackfyre will come running after them if nothing else. And Brynden you shall lead the host from the Crownlands that is mustering.”

With that he dismissed council though his brother remained behind an angry expression on his face. “Why is it you have given command of our troops to Bloodraven why not me? I am the one who led us to victory against Daemon, or have you forgotten?”

Aerys sighed, he was so tired now. “I have not forgotten brother, but you cannot be trusted to be impartial. Daeron was your best friend and still is if what happened with Egg is anything to go by. You must remain here and help defend the city and Aelinor.”

Maekar puffed up with indignation before simply deflating and walking out of the room. Aerys sighed, he hadn’t had the heart to tell his brother what he had learnt before the council meeting, Aerion had sided with Bittersteel in the Disputed Lands, his brother’s son was a traitor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	20. Battle of the Bleeding Water

**King Daeron Stark**

Riverrun was warm, the streams that ran beneath the castle provided some form of relief for Daeron and those who were within the castle and camped outside its walls, in the form of water and baths and swimming. They had stayed within Riverrun’s walls now for a moon planning for the upcoming battle, the one which Daeron deeply believed would be the one that would decided who would sit the Iron Throne for generations to come. Their scouts had reported that Ser Gawen Rivers and Ser Matthew Tully, uncles of Lord Brynden Tully who was currently rotting in a cell at Moat Cailin, had gathered a sizeable host of riverlords at the Stoney Sept, numbering some 4,000 men their plan the scouts said was to meet up with the host being led by the kinslayer Lord Brynden Rivers at Tumbler Falls and from there march on Riverrun. Originally it seemed that the loyalists were to meet at Rushing Falls near Harrenhal and move forward from there, but something had caused a change in plan, something that must have scared the kinslayer, not that Daeron minded overtly, it was all for the better for them.

Ravens had come from the west, the battle of Lion’s Ridge had been fought and won and lost by the Ironborn. Daeron’s cousin Dagon Greyjoy had led the charge that had broken Tybolt Lannister’s men, though Dagon had paid for it with his life, Lord Gormon Botley had taken the Ridge only to be massacred by the host commanded by Lord Devon Tarly, the men under Botley’s command thankfully had not been the whole of the Ironborn strength, Dagon had had the sense to send his son and the prime part of their strength back to Lannisport, where the Ironborn had put the Lannister ships to torch before retreating back to the Iron Islands. The Redwyne fleet it seemed had been unable to get to the Iron Islands, needing to help deal with the wreckage left from the burning of Lannisport, Daeron was glad the Redwyne boy would not be able to go toward Pyke, Tybolt Lannister had died from his wounds taken during the battle, and his ten year old son was now Lord of the Rock, the Westerlands would not be part of the fighting for some time.

When news had reached Riverrun of his cousin’s death and the result of the Lion’s Ridge, Daeron had been subdued for some time, he’d had to spend time with Dacey ensuring his headstrong wife did not do too much to cause herself pain despite her good intentions, he needed her safe and whole, not injured or lying in pain on their bed. Still when the raven had come he had declared that word should be sent to Lords Cassel and Dustin, Cassel was ordered to take his men back home, their ships docked in the ruins of the Banefort were used to ferry the men from the Westerlands, to the Iron Islands and then back home to Stony Shore, most of the gold and plunder that his men had managed to get from their raids of the Westerlands was brought back with them. Torrhen Dustin and his men had marched for Riverrun alongside Robb Reyne and the rebel Westerlords. They had arrived some three days past, bolstering the numbers of troops now at Aemon’s disposal to some 25,000. Still their troop numbers were less than that of those fighting for the throne, Lord Rivers had called the Crownlands together along with those forces of the Stormlands, and with Lord Garth Tyrell marching up the Roseroad, soon enough they would be outnumbered. That was why Daeron had called a meeting of his lords’ bannermen and those who had bent the knee to Aemon. They needed to discuss their options, and quickly.

It was Hothar Umber, the Lord of Last Hearth who spoke first as had been his custom as of late. “It is clear what we must do Your Grace. The Kinslayer sits at Tumbler Falls, with his sizeable host. That is the host we must worry about, if I may be so bold, I suggest we march out in full force and deal with that host now, before the Flower Lord comes and tries to aid the kinslayer.” There were some murmurs of agreement, and Umber seemed well pleased, he was an experienced soldier Daeron knew, still despite his experience and age he was ever the impulsive man.

Something, Daeron’s brother Theon, the Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard seemed to agree with. “Whilst Lord Umber’s suggestion has merit, do you not think that is what the kinslayer is expecting us to do? Attack his larger host whilst it sits immobile, and then draw the host being led by Tully’s uncles to attack us in the flank, and bleed us out whilst Tyrell’s host marches and reclaims Riverrun?”

At that there was even more murmuring, and eventually Lord Torrhen Dustin spoke, the man was a fierce warrior had proven himself during the first Blackfyre war and then again during the Bolton rebellion and even now during the war in the Westerlands. “What would you suggest Lord Theon?” the man asked in his calm voice. “Do you suggest we attack the Stoney Sept then? And put the Riverlord host to the sword and risk losing valuable men and resources to the Kinslayer?”

At that there was even more murmuring. Theon spoke up then in defence of what he had said earlier. “Aye Lord Dustin, I do think it would be wise to attack the Stoney Sept. The Riverlords who are there are divided, we hold the more prominent forces of the Riverlords, we have the Freys, the Mallisters as well as those who sit here on this council. Pray tell me whom do the Throne have? Blackwood, Bracken and Shawney? Those lords have never been friends, hell I will not be surprised if Bracken turns his cloak the minute we descend upon them.” At there is more murmuring, and this time it seems more determined as if his lords have accepted that this will be their course of action.

Aemon speaks then and what he says sounds so much like something Daemon would say, Daeron half expects his brother to be sitting where the boy sits. “Aye attacking the Stoney Sept is a good idea, but it would leave us exposed from the rear. How do we know that we can defend ourselves against both the Riverlords and the host the kinslayer has gathered? We don’t surely there is strength in numbers?”

Lord Darry speaks up then, the man is old and brittle but still a proud man who sits on this council because of his experience, he fought alongside the Young Dragon at Dorne, and with the Unworthy in Dorne and against the Toynes “We will be able to deal with those riverlords Your Grace. Myself, Goodbrook, Mooton and Ryger know these men better than most, and I can tell you for one thing that they will be divided and not sure whom to follow. Tully is a natural leader, Rivers however, is not.” Daeron sees Goodbrook and Ryger nod at that whilst Mooton remains impassive.

“How many blasted uncles does Lord Tully have? I swear each time we meet another one pops up.” Lord Umber jests, and the lords laugh at that. Good Daeron thinks let them laugh; he needs them to be relaxed now.

“We have all discussed what needs to be done, and yet our commander is yet to say anything. Your Grace, what have you decided?” Lord Goodbrook asks, always trying to get into his good books, frankly Daeron has little time for the man but still.

Daeron is silent for a moment and Dacey takes his hand under the table, squeezing it reassuringly, he had spoken with her and Theon about what he meant to say at this point the night before and they both agreed it was the right move. “I believe that the concerns voiced here are accurate and correct. We cannot expect to deal with three reasonably sized hosts without the aid of the Ironborn. That is why I have decided that Aemon shall lead a host of 10,000 men to assail the Stoney Sept and take if for us. The Kinslayer will not expect that, he will think that Aemon will want to lead the assault that goes for Tumbler Falls. That will not be the case. Lords Umber, Dustin, Glover and Manderly you shall ride with your strength alongside my nephew. Lords Darry, Goodbrook, Ryger and Mooton you shall ride with me. “

There is agreement and then the council ends, though Aemon hangs back and when Daeron looks at him, he sees the same look of annoyance that would often come up on Daemon’s face when he was denied something. “I could command the host on Tumbler Falls equally well nuncle. And why not give the command of the Riverlords forces to me as well? I could win their loyalty just as easily as you or my father could.”

Daeron sighs, weary for he knows that this is an argument that could last for a long time, and they do not have the time, nor does he have the patience to explain why he has done what he has done. “I know that Aemon, truly I do.” He says softly. “But you must understand, I would rather you fight and win with men beside you who have seen you grow and have fought beside you before, than lords who bent the knee because there was a sword over their heads.”

Aemon looks as if he is about to protest but he merely nods and stalks off. Daeron sighs, but the next day when they are all gathered ready to march; Aemon finds him before they are mounted on their horses and simply says. “I shall see you in King’s Landing nuncle, when we have won the throne.” Daeron nods and then off they ride, to battle, and to seat the rightful king on the throne.

The fighting begins about a mile north of Tumbler Falls, with men bearing the banners of House Arryn arriving in a mad canter to try and dissuade them from getting closer. The fighting itself with these men does not last all that long, Daeron himself fights like the warrior brought to life, hacking and slashing men to the ground like they are nothing more than flies. Truly though that initial skirmish passes by so quickly that he is not sure whether or not it was supposed to be an actual delay tactic or just an inconvenience. Still they ride on and just as they get toward the encampment of the Iron Throne’s soldiers, they are assailed by more men bearing the banners of House Arryn, and this time the battle takes longer than a few moments.

This time there is more fight in the Arryn Soldiers, and once or twice Daeron swears he saw Jasper Arryn fighting close by, though largely he is too preoccupied to notices any of the more recognisable faces. Hacking and slashing as he is, when the fight ends, his sword is stained red, and there are bodies littering the ground, so much so that he has to move his horse carefully to avoid trampling over those who might still be alive. Theon finds him, and they briefly speak before assaulting the main camp. “Beric Dustin is dead brother. Killed bringing down Beron Arryn. The man was trying to get to you.”

Daeron nods. “He was a good man. What of Jeyne, how does she fare brother?”

“Well.” Theon replies, and rides close by though he is silent, and Daeron sighs, he hopes once this is all done Theon and Jeyne will make up. Life is too short for all these petty arguments.

He looks to his side and sees Dacey there, riding confidently her Morningstar in her hand, bloodied as well as she is. And then a horn is blown and the battle recommences, this time there is no quick flash in the pan, this is proper battle like the battle of Oldstones during the first Blackfyre war. Hacking and slashing, Daeron fights, pushing his body to its limits, he brings men down left, right and centre, his sword getting so covered with blood that one would be forgiven for thinking that it had always been so. He swings and swings his sword, until no more men stand in front of him, he has a brief moment to see how the battle progresses around him, his men are overwhelming those camped here, tents are being burnt and those fighting for the Iron Throne are being massacred where they stand, ridden down or cut down by his men.

And then the attacks continue, hacking and slashing this time men with roses on their armour are brought down by his sword, that can’t be right, the Tyrells and their men are still on the Rose road are they not, they can’t be here already. Still he hacks and slashes his way through them until he comes face to face with the Lord of Highgarden himself; Lord Garth Tyrell the man wields a battle axe like Daeron wields Ice. When the man spots him he roars and charges towards him. Daeron dodges his axe swing and strikes the man’s exposed side denting the armour. Tyrell grunts, and wheels his horse around and brings it back for another attack, swinging his axe like a mad man, Daeron blocks the swing with Ice, and uses his strength to push Tyrell away before leaning forward slightly and striking Tyrell squarely on the chest whilst his axe is still in the air, he pulls back before the man can bring the axe down.

Tyrell continues swinging at Daeron, but the man’s strength here has become his disadvantage, the adrenaline coursing through his veins has impaired his judgement, and so Daeron takes advantage of that. Blocking axe swing after axe swing, and then eventually managing to force the axe from Tyrell’s hands, he brings his sword back and then in one quick thrust stabs Ice through Tyrell’s chest, only pulling the sword out once he sees blood begin to gurgle from the man’s throat. When he pulls his sword out, it is so red that he himself has forgotten what colour it was before this battle began.

Tyrell falls from his horse, and still the battle rages around him, Daeron looks around him lifting the visor of his helm up to see what is happening. Dacey has brought down countless men in the time he has been fighting as has Theon, and Asphell. “Theon” He shouts, when his brother comes towards him he asks. “What banners do you see?”

Theon looks around for a moment and then says. “The banners of Houses Darklyn, Hollard, Celtigar, Bracken, Blackwood and Tully brother why?”

Daeron feels fear rise inside of him. “Do you see the banners of any of the Reacher houses?”

Theon shakes his head but Dacey speaks. “Yes my love, there’s the rose of House Tyrell, the ants of House Ambrose, the Sun of House Ashford, plenty of banners my love why?”

“Do you see the Three Headed Dragon of House Targaryen?” he asks. “More specifically the white dragon of the kinslayer?”

Dacey shakes her head and Daeron feels his heart sink. But before he can answer any questions his brother and wife have for him, another horn sounds and he sees men charging over the hill, battle begins once more. He swings and hacks his way through the Reachermen, Osgrey men he knows from their sigils and fighting styles. Hacking and slashing his way through them, until he comes face to face with the person he has been looking for, for most of this time. Addam Osgrey, Lord of Coldmoat and Standfast fighting off three northmen at once, turns at the sound of Daeron bellowing his name.

They meet in a clash of steel on steel, hacking and slashing Daeron reads Osgrey’s feints like reading a book, managing to intercept the blows before they are formed in the boy’s mind. He dents the boy’s armour several times, hacking and slashing his way through Osgrey’s defences, before he eventually swings once more and takes off Osgrey’s left hand, and then in one fell swing knocks the sword out of his hand. A man bearing Osgrey arms tries to come to his liege’s rescue but Theon kills him in one swing. Daeron merely keeps his sword levelled at the man’s throat and then raises his helm. “Tell your men to surrender Osgrey, Tyrell is dead and you are useless now. Surrender and you may be spared.”

Eventually once the men have laid down their arms, and have been taken prisoner and camp has been set up, Daeron meets with Theon, Dacey and his other lords to assess how the battle has gone. Theon speaks. “We lost 8,000 men Your Grace. Lords Ryswell, Karstark and Darry were all killed during the fighting. As for the enemy. As well as Lord Tyrell, Lords Darklyn, Ser Gawen Rivers, Ser Percy Flowers and others were all killed.”

Daeron nods. “Did anyone see the kinslayer’s banner waving during the battle?” His fear has been going strong since the end of the battle, was he conned into believing something? When no one answers, him other than to shift awkwardly in their chairs, Daeron feels anger begin to boil up inside of him. “Why do you all remain silent? It is a simple question. Either you saw the man’s banner or you did not.”

Dacey speaks then. “Your Grace, none of us were focusing on finding the banner. We were to concerned with winning the battle. That is why none of us have answered your question.”

Daeron merely nods. “We shall wait for word from the Stoney Sept before marching on King’s Landing. This council is at an end.” With that he walks from the tent towards where Addam Osgrey is being held, not in a cell like the others but in a tent guarded by four men Daeron trusts implicitly. He nods at them and then enters the tent. Osgrey looks a shambles, his hair is a mess, his clothes are rumpled and his body seems bruised beyond comprehension, the stump where his left hand used to be stinks. “Where was he during the battle Osgrey?” Daeron asks without preamble.

Osgrey looks at him and asks. “Who?”

Daeron sighs in frustration. “Do not play the fool with me Osgrey. You know who I am talking about, where was the kinslayer?”

Addam laughs slightly then, but there is no joy in it. “He was never here Your Grace. It was a trick, he did to make you think he would be here. He wanted Aemon to come charging here to be slaughtered by Lord Tyrell or myself.”

Daeron feels himself stunned, the kinslayer has outsmarted him, he’s sent Aemon to his death. Gods what has he done?

* * *

 

**Bloodraven**

War, war and memories that is all that haunts him nowadays. Before there were visions of a life that he could have lived had he not been born a Great Bastard, but then again when he grew up he knew such a life would never have been his, had he not been born the son of a King, he would have been left out to die in the cold. No, now his dreams are plagued by visions of that battle, the battle that has given him the title kinslayer, even amongst those who never liked Daemon, they were abhorred by his actions even though it saved them their bloody lives, the fools.

And this latest war being raged will cause more people to murmur how it was his actions that has caused the peace in Westeros to end. Perhaps they have, but had it not been for his actions that day at Redgrass, there would be more and more war than there has been now. Baelor lay rotting in a cell somewhere in the Riverlands when Redgrass happened, Maekar would have been far too stubborn to ever admit defeat, and Stark, Stark, gods that man has been the source of Brynden’s nightmares for years now. A demon, that’s what he is, the Demon of the north, a winter dragon.

He has the command of the royal forces marching towards Rushing Falls, Aerys does not trust Maekar, hell not even Maekar trusts Maekar, not now, not where Daeron is concerned. Brynden would feel sorry for his nephew, if it were not for the fact that, was it Maekar on the throne, he would likely be rotting in a cell somewhere and Shiera, gods Shiera likely would have been sold off many years ago. For some reason Brynden had never truly been able to connect with Maekar, not in the way he had connected with Baelor or Aerys or even his own brother Daeron the Good. Perhaps the peace died with Daeron and Baelor.

The only good thing so far is that Bittersteel is too busy fighting in the Disputed Lands to be able to send any aid to the Blackfyre pretender. The Arryns will be meeting them at Rushing Falls, with their full strength, or so the young Jasper Arryn has promised them. It remains to be seen, this Arryn is not the last one who fought in Daemon’s war. It will be interesting to see what happens. Beside him Shiera stirs in their bed, the one woman whom he would give it all up for, she would never give it up for him though. She revels too much in the attention given to her, even now, she remains young and beautiful whilst he is ageing and scarred.

“Must you go?” She murmurs sleepily.

Brynden is surprised to see her looking up at him. “You know I must. I am the Hand of the King, tasked with leading the King’s armies when the king is unable to do so himself. I must go.”

“Why not send Maekar instead? He could do just as good a job as you. There is no guarantee you would come back alive Brynden. Both Stark and Blackfyre hate you, they would do all they could to see you dead.” Shiera says.

Brynden sighs. “Maekar cannot be trusted to do his all to keep the kingdom’s armies running effectively if he goes against Stark, their bond runs deep. No it must be me and I will not fail.”

He knows Shiera does not believe him, but thankfully she does not question him anymore and they make love once more that night, and the morning afterwards. And Brynden thinks that when he comes back from this, he will propose to her once more, and this time she will accept, he has seen it in her eyes and the way she hangs onto him more intently than she did before. As he gets ready to leave, there is a knock on the door and Ser Jenson Storm of the Kingsguard announced Maekar. Brynden sighs, what could his nephew wish to say to him now?

Maekar merely stands in the doorway for a long moment, before he closes the door and says softly. “So you are to be marching today then?”

Brynden nods. “With the strength of the crownlands, the Stormlands and the Vale soon to join us.” In reality Lyonel Baratheon had not been willing to raise his whole army, but Maekar does not need to know that.

“You know Aegon will be with the army as well?” Maekar says softly.

Brynden nods, so this is what his nephew has come to speak with him about. Aegon and his sworn sword had been banished from King’s Landing sometime ago for aiding the escape of Daemon Blackfyre, but had been called back when the war had become out of control. “Yes Maekar I do. And I promise you, I will do all I can to make sure he remains safe and out of harm’s way.” Maekar nods and then leaves,. Brynden sighs, will things ever be easy between the two of them? Perhaps not, but at least in this he can try and do his best to protect some part of his family. Once they have been blessed by the High Septon and Aerys has bid them well, they set of from King’s Landing 20,000 strong and ready for battle.

Their first stop is a holdfast bordering on the Isle of Faces, where the Order of the Green Men rest. Most of the lords become uneasy around here, and with good reason, for this was where Daeron Stark was declared King in the North and where the blood oaths that are being fulfilled today were created. Still there is one person Brynden needs to see before they can advance any further, and so he pays a small fee, and takes a boat into the centre of the island, where the man he needs to see greets him. Tall and strong just as he was in his youth, the man wears a hood to hide his face, though Brynden has an inkling as to whom he may be. “So you have come at last Brynden Rivers. I thought you would not be brave enough to come here.” The hooded man says.

Brynden looks at the man and then says. “I have come because I needed to come. Bravery has nothing to do with it. I know Stark was here when he was crowned and that you spoke with him then. Now I need your advice as well.”

“Ah, now this is something no one could have foreseen. Bloodraven the sorcerer with a thousand eyes and one, asking for advice.” The man chuckled. “Well go on, do tell me what it is you wish to ask me.”

“Stark believes we shall be marching on Rushing Falls with the army, but to go to Rushing Falls would place to great a distance between our army and that of the Tullys. I need to know which place would be better to go to.” Brynden says.

The hooded man sighs. “The land has changed much since I last rode into battle. Back then there were dragons in the sky and it was easy to manoeuvre troops through. No, Rushing Falls will only hinder you, and you wish to hit the Blackfyre boy where you know his uncle will not think to send him. Then you must send the army to Tumblers Falls and go yourself to the Stoney Sept.”

Brynden is not sure about the wisdom of that, but he has learnt not to question the advice of the man, and so he merely nods and then at the war council that night announces that the army shall be marching for Tumblers Falls whilst he himself shall be marching for Stoney Sept alongside Ser Jenson and Ser Bryce of the Kingsguard and 1,000 men. He sets out that morning for the Stoney Sept, and it takes him four days to reach the town, where the banners of House Tully fly proudly, unbroken as of yet, a sizeable army has gathered under the banners of the Tullys, some 4,000 men led by Lord Brynden Tully’s three uncles, Steffon Blackwood, Ser Matthew Tully and Ser Gawen Rivers.

If they are surprised to see him, the lords have the good sense to keep quiet about it, and instead they spend a great part of time discussing battle plans and the news that comes in from the Westerlands. Lord Steffon Blackwood seems dismayed by news of the death of Tybolt Lannister, and it is only then that Brynden remembers that the man’s sister is wed to Lannister. Tully and Rivers however are more concerned with what to do about the host at Tumblers Falls and who leads them. “Lord Darklyn leads them. The man is smart and capable. Besides once the Reacher lords join us I shall send them off to Tumblers Falls.”

“You are confident Stark will fall for the trap though my lord?” Ser Matthew Tully asks.

“Yes. They have won many victories now, both Stark and Blackfyre shall be over confident and that shall play into our hands., Besides Ser Gawen and Lord Blackwood shall be going with their men to Tumblers Falls as well.” Brynden replies.

Sure enough, the moment that the Tyrell host arrives they march off for Tumblers Falls, and Brynden waits for the host of northmen to arrive here at Stoney Sept. It takes two weeks but eventually they arrive, and with them the black dragon comes forth. The day of the battle, Brynden summons the commander of the Raven’s Teeth. “Stand on the ridge and wait for my signal before firing is that understood?”

The man nods and then battle begins. Hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing. The armies meet in a clash of steel, armour and blood. Men die screaming for their mothers, their fathers, their wives and their children. Brynden fights on hacking and slashing his way through the northmen and whatever forces his cousin sought fit to bring with his nephew. He hacks a man’s arm off, and then stabs another man’s eye out. When he goes up against a man bearing the sigil of House Umber, he fights like his life depends on it, hacking and slashing his way through the man’s defences and then hacking the man to pieces. Brynden himself receives numerous cuts and bruises his own armour dented in several places and yet still he fights on.

On and on it goes, hacking and slashing, cutting and parrying blows. Brynden’s sword is bathed in blood, his armour stained with dirt, blood and mud and something else he’d rather not think about. Around him, the sounds of battle echo, the bells of the sept are ringing, and still all around him men fight and bleed and die, for one cause or another. And then there he is, the pretender charging towards Brynden with his guards streaming after him. They begin their dance, swinging at one another, getting one dent then another, Brynden feels his age begin to catch up with him, but still he fights on. Swing once, block once, swing twice, block twice, a pattern develops and on  and on it goes, until he slips up and he feels a sharp pain in his side, and feels blood begin to trickle down.

The fighting continues though, one swing, a block, another swing and a miss. One more swing and a hit, the armour denting loudly in the air, his ears ringing. Blackfyre is bleeding now as well.  One swing, Brynden’s arms are aching now, the pain is excruciating the blood is seeping out of his wounds. Blackfyre seems to be in just as much pain, still on they go swinging and blocking until he feels steel pierce his armour, he looks down briefly to see the boy’s sword stabbed right through his armour, blood seeping out of the wound, when the boy groans in pain, Brynden recognises the sword through the boy’s own armour. So it seems they have done each other in. As the world begins to go black, Brynden thinks of the irony of the swords of the conqueror and the Dark Queen being the ones to kill their descendants. As he slumps off his horse, the battle continues to rage around him, but neither Brynden Rivers nor Aemon Blackfyre will take further part in it. The sixth day of the seventh moon of the 215th year after Aegon’s Landing sees both Brynden Rivers and Aemon Blackfyre die from their wounds and their duel, which will go down in history. But neither will be alive to benefit from their near legendary status.


	21. We're All Breathing In The Fallout

**Prince Aegor Stark**

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell that was what his father had told him before he had ridden of for war. Aegor had argued with his father, he was twenty a man grown with a child of his own, surely he should have gone south with his father, he would be King one day after all, and he needed to show his future bannermen that he would be able to lead just as well as his father could. King Daeron would have none of it though, had simply taken him aside and told him rather sharply, that this war was not a child’s game, and that he needed him here in Winterfell to ensure that everything ran smoothly and continued to do so. Aegor had felt rather resentful of that fact, he was a man grown, only slightly younger than his father had been when the first Blackfyre war had happened, he was not some child like Jorah and Brandon were.

Instead his father had ridden south with the strength of the north leaving some 5,000 men behind to hold the north in his absence, some 1,000 of them in Winterfell alongside two warriors of the Winter’s Guard, Rickard Karstark and Derrick Flint. Aegor had been left with overseeing the day to day running of the castle and the north, making sure that there was enough food stuffs in the granaries to last them through the duration of the war no matter how long it lasted, not that he expected Winterfell itself to come under direct attack, it still didn’t hurt to be cautious Especially when the early battles had seen Pyke come under siege, hells, Aegor had heard reports that the Rock was under siege from his father’s and uncle Dagon’s forces, if the Rock could come under siege what was to say Winterfell could not.

The period in which his father had been gone along with his step mother, Aegor had finally had firsthand experience at playing the lord of Winterfell, listening to his people’s grievances and deciding what sort of aid should be given to them. The problems brought before him were usually of a mundane nature, issues that Aegor knew would in the southern court be dealt with by the Hand, but this was the north, and his uncle Edwyle was not some southern fool, if Aegor was to rule the north, he would need to show he was willing to be the north, and that was what these sessions allowed him to do. Despite having held court and been the Stark in Winterfell for seven months whilst his father fought the war, he always flushed with pride when Maester Tywin or uncle Edwyle complimented him on well he had done in court. It was quite surreal, if he was being honest, here he was at twenty feeling proud over something that his friends Torrhen and Beric had been doing since they were sixteen.

It was something that had earnt him a lot of jokes from both his wife and his aunt. Delena his wife, was so full of life, he knew he loved her, had done so for some time. They had found that they had much in common; they both liked the good side of life, and were both passionate people, something that led to the fire between them. Their daughter Rhaenrya was such a joy to be around, she had turned two a few days back, and with her mop of silvery hair and dark purple eyes, she was the jewel in Aegor’s eyes, he knew he would do anything to make sure she always remained safe and would never come into danger. Delena was pregnant once more, was due to give birth any day now, and Aegor looked forward to welcoming yet another Stark into the world. Whilst Delena said she wished for it to be a boy, Aegor was not particularly fussed, boy or girl he would love this child just as much as he loved Rhaenrya.

Aegor’s thoughts took a dark tinge though when he looked at the letter written in his step mother’s elegant hand. His goodbrother Aemon Blackfyre had been killed, slain by the kinslayer Brynden Rivers at the Battle of the Stoney Sept, when Aegor had told his wife and his aunt the news, there had been a moment of stunned silence and then the tears had begun. Aegor himself was still in shock, the reports they had been getting from the south had all but suggested that Aemon would win, that the Targaryens would be annihilated. No one had thought he would die, his death had caused Aegor’s father to order to retreat of the northern forces with all their plunder from the West and the Riverlands back to Moat Cailin where they currently were. They would be returning home soon enough.

Aegor looked at the letter once more, and sighed. His father would be furious with this, that oath of his would be weighing heavily on his mind. There would be more war and more fighting Aegor knew, for his father was determined to seat the Blackfyres on that blasted Iron Chair. Aegor’s cousin Aegon would now be the focus of the Winter Dragon’s efforts, and drive to put on the throne. The boy was but sixteen, the mirror image of his father, and tall and proud as well, and not half bad with a sword. Still the boy was not the father, Aegon had not fought in battle before, neither had Aegor, but still there would be more conflicts and more blood. Aegor made a note to remain away from his father for some time when he returned from the Moat.

The only good thing to come from this, Aegor supposed was the fact that the kinslayer Brynden Rivers was dead. The man had been a bane to the north for many a year, with his death, Aegor knew that his father would be more content to lay low for a while, and allow the north to regroup, for father’s friend Prince Maekar would surely become Hand now, and Aegor knew that his father and Prince Maekar had been the staunchest of friends before all of this had happened.  A knock on the door took him from his thoughts. “My prince.” Maester Tywin said tentatively. The man was stopped with age, but his eyes belied his sharp mind, Aegor was very fond of the man.

“Yes Maester, what might I do for you?” Aegor enquired.

Maester Tywin enters the room properly then and smiles slightly when he sees what Aegor was looking at, the account books. “You remind so much of your mother my Prince. She would always look through the books when waiting for your father.”

Aegor smiles slightly, embarrassed. His mother had died when he was but a boy, but he still remembers her and loves her completely, despite the fact that his step mother Dacey did much to help him heal. “You did not come to talk about the dead though did you  Maester? Now what can I help you with?” He says rather sharper than he intended.

Thankfully the maester does not take offense and merely smiles. “Pray forgive me my prince, I am old and often dither. No, what I came here for was to tell you that the Princess has entered labour.”

Aegor shoots up then, and says. “When did she start and why did no one come and find me before then?”

Maester Tywin lays a reassuring hand on his arm and says. “Because the pains have just started. Still she is in your chambers.”

Aegor stands up and sprints towards the chambers he and Delena share, and when he is not allowed entry he swears violently, but sits down all the same. When Maester Tywin toddles past, he grabs him by the arm and whispers. “Who is it who is seeing to her inside if you came and found me?”

“Daemon my prince. The boy wishes to help, so I let him. He has better eyes than me.” Maester Tywin nods.

Aegor relaxes slightly, had it been anyone else he would have screamed but there is something soothing about Daemon that reassures him. Maester Tywin re-enters the room and then the hours trickle by rather slowly for Aegor, he hears his wife’s screams of pain and one or twice he seriously considers simply barging in, regardless of propeity. Eventually the screams stop, and he hears the crying of a baby, Daemon walks out then a smile on his face and says. “You may come in now my prince.”

Aegor does so and sits straight on the bed, kisses Delena’s hair and then looks down at his child. “Say hello to your daughter my love.” Delena says softly. “What should we name her?”

“Maege.” Aegor says. “Maege Stark.”

Maege Stark proves to be a handful, a tiresome baby, crying and awake at all hours of the day and night. Rhaenrya was a good baby and quiet baby, but that does not mean Aegor loves his daughter any less, no he loves just the same and Rhaenrya seems completely fascinated by her baby sister. Maege has Delena’s colouring as well, silvery hair and violet eyes. Winterfell seems taken with her as well, delighting in their Prince’s joy. Even his aunt seems to come out of her grief to assist in caring for the babe when Aegor is too busy and Delena its too tired. In fact it seems Maege and Rhaenrya help to bring Winterfell out of its state of grief, Rhaenrya Blackfyre, Aegor’s niece helps in looking after them as well, seemingly delighting in it as well. Aegor is happy that the shadow of grief that hung over Winterfell due to Aemon’s death seems to be lifting, truly he is very happy.

Aegor’s sister and goodbrother return from their tour of the north around the same time that Aegor’s father returns from war, thus meaning that the castle is swamped with activity. King Daeron and Queen Dacey, look every inch the regal couple when they ride through the gates, dressed in matching sets of dark blue armour, the banner of House Stark – a grey direwolf combatant with a grey dragon on a field of ice white- flapping behind them. When Aegor bows before his father, he hears his father bid him rise and then when his father embraces him, he hears him whisper. “Once all this ceremony is done, come to my solar. I must needs discuss things with you and Edwyle.” Aegor nods and then spends the rest of the time wondering what it could be that will cause his father to ask him for a meeting so soon after his return from war.

As it turns out, his father does not wish to speak of the war but instead of the issues that will need to be addressed now that Aemon is dead. “Edwyle tells me ruled well whilst I was away Aegor. For that I am very pleased and proud.” His father says, and Aegor flushes with pride once more. “I must also congratulate you on the birth of your daughter. I am told she is a strong and healthy child, who keeps the castle awake most nights.” Aegor smiles slightly at that. His father goes on. “Regardless, you know that Aemon is dead, killed by the kinslayer whilst killing him as well. The Targaryens have won this war, but we did much damage to their lands and their lords are not like to forget that. Still there will be more war to come, none of us are fools enough to believe otherwise. As such we must prepare for when it comes.”

Aegor speaks then. “If we are preparing for another war, should Aegon not be here as well? After all this will involve him as well.”

His father sighs then, the tiredness and heart break of the war clear in that sigh. “Aegon is a boy still, and he has just returned from a trip around the north. No he knows his father is dead, when he is ready he will come to us and then we shall include him a our plans. For now though, let him enjoy some peace and quiet.”

Aegor nods though he can’t help the slight irritation that he feels at that. Still he asks. “So what would you have of me father? How may I help?”

His father sighs once more and then looks at him. “From now on when the council meets you shall attend the meetings and learn more about the realm which you shall one day inherit, and you will contribute your thoughts to the issues we discuss. Furthermore, you shall spend some time with Aegon, one day the two of you will rule Westeros, it would be good if you actually knew one another.” Aegor sighs slightly, Aegon, he likes his nephew well enough but still he has never really spoke to the lad for long enough to have true understanding of him, still he will do as his father asks. Once his father is happy with that, Aegor listens as he discusses various measures that need to be taken to hold the north and the Iron Islands from retaliation from the south. “Edwyle you will of course continue the patrols around the Neck and hold the marshes from the southerners. Those from the Twins are to be questioned about movement in their part of the southern kingdom. Furthermore I want reports on the Iron Islands, Dagon is dead and I do not know his sons as well as I would like to. I need to know my allies for when war comes. Furthermore send word to Velena and tell her that if she wishes to come home she is more than welcome to.”

His uncle nods and then says. “A letter came whilst both of you were busy with other matters Your Grace. Word from our sources in the south, it appears Prince Maekar has been named Hand to Aerys Targaryen.”

* * *

 

**Prince Maekar Targaryen**

Gods, King’s Landing is so stifling now, summer has fast approached and bathed them in its warmth and the foul stench of King’s Landing has hit him, just as hard as it did during his childhood. Sometimes he wonders if he is a ghost re-living the past with every passing moment. Sometimes he turns round a corner half expecting to see Baelor or Daeron laughing and jesting, only to find empty space where they once all sat and played and joked and grew up. He half expects to enter his rooms and find Baelor there, hunched over some sort of report or scroll. As he walks the hallways he wants to hear Rhaegal’s laughter, but all he can hear is silence.

This has become his lot in life, he has gotten what he has wanted since Aerys became King, he is Hand of the King, but the memories and ghosts of his home haunt him still, just as they haunted him after he vowed to not return to King’s Landing ever again. So much has happened, the war has been won, Aemon Blackfyre was slain at the Stoney Sept by Bloodraven, and Bloodraven himself died from his wounds, the news came on dark wings, though half of Maekar was relieved by the news, the other half was disgusted by himself and his thoughts, whatever Bloodraven was, he was still kin, and the fact that his death gave Maekar some form of relief sickens him.

When the news came though, Maekar knew he had to act quickly before someone else tried to seize power and influence. He took control of the council, well that was left in King’s Landing and began planning the end of the war, the disbanding of the armies, deciding which lords needed to be rewarded for their part in ending the Blackfyre threat, and which lords needed to be punished for aiding the Blackfyres. As such, when Aerys had pulled himself away from his books for long enough to realise what had happened, he had had no choice but to name Maekar hand, and so he had.

Despite that, there was still a part of Maekar that was still bitter about having been left behind in King’s Landing whilst the men including his own son marched off to war. He should have been the one leading the troops, he had argued as much with Aerys and Aelinor, and whilst Bloodraven was dead, and had managed to achieve the ending of the war, Maekar knew what he would have done differently. He would have engaged Blackfyre and then thrown his troops against a shield wall, the forces of the crownlands should have been enough to overwhelm the north but no, Bloodraven in his plot to be sneaky sent the Tyrells and parts of the crownlands to Tumblers Falls, and there that host was broken and prisoners were taken.

There had been no word for Aegon since the battle nor from his sworn sword Ser Duncan, and that was something that deeply worried Maekar, he had sent men out to look for his son and the big hedge knight, and yet there had been no luck so far. He was beginning to panic, and worry that perhaps something had happened to his son, had he come face to face with Daeron perhaps or maybe even Aemon Blackfyre? He knew that Daeron would spare Aegon for their friendship; he was not sure about Blackfyre though. Damn it all he was worrying, and he could do nothing about it, it was frustrating, he had never liked not being in the know, never. Not during Redgrass and not now, especially now he knew what Aerion had gotten himself into.

Aerion, his son who was mad and cruel as Rhaegal had been mad and sweet, had become a traitor, and had joined the Golden Company. His exile for assaulting members of his own family, had sickened Maekar, the boy who had once played at his knee and begged for stories was now a mad traitor. Aerion had not only joined the Golden Company but had also wed Daemon Blackfyre’s daughter Shiera, and had gotten her with child, now that in itself was enough to drive Maekar to despair. When he had heard the news from Aerys himself, he had not believed it, surely Aerion would have more sense than that, if he ever wished to come home, surely he would know that now he would never come home, not whilst the Blackfyres and Bittersteel still lived.

Maekar shook his head, he had not seen fit to tell Aleana, no point in worrying his wife over what would happen to their son now. He ran his fingers through his hair, it was beginning to thin considerably, and thought about his children. His firstborn Daeron was a drunken fool, who remained in Summerhall probably pissing away all the gold in Summerhall, a lost cause, Aerion a traitor, Aemon a maester and someone who had sense enough to be a  good lord if only he would try and let himself be free, and Aegon gone no sign of him he could be alive or dead, but Maekar would never know. Rhae and Daella were still young girls as far as Maekar was concerned though there had been some interest in their hands, subtle marriages offers from the Velaryons, the Baratheons and the Arryns for both of his girls. At present he was not sure what he wanted to do about that, and likely would not be until they found Aegon.

A knock on the door shook him from his thoughts. He saw Ser Tom Costayne of the Kingsguard was stood in the doorway. “Yes Ser, what is it?” He asked.

“The king requests your presence at the small council meeting my prince.” Ser Tom replied. Ser Tom had been in the Kingsguard for some forty years now, a strong man built like an ox, who had served under Maekar’s brother, and father. That he had not been named Lord Commander of the guard simply showed just what sort of machinations Bloodraven had played and held over his brother.

As he walks to the small council chamber, Maekar finds himself wondering what could have stirred Aerys from his books and scrolls. His brother has never been known for showing so much of an interest in the affairs of state, as shown by the fact that despite thirty years of marriage Aelinor is still without child. He dreads the day Aerys stops breathing, for then his punishment will be complete. He worries even more when he enters the small council chamber, and sees the grim expression on all of the other lords faces, have they had word of Aegon? “Your Grace.” He says before bowing.

“Sit Maekar,” Aerys says and so he does. Once he is seated. Aerys speaks once more. “I thank you for coming here at such short notice my lords. But in light of the ending of the war, I thought it would be most prudent if we discussed what needed to be done. Maester Justin.”

Grand Maester Justin is an old man and frail but his voice is strong when he speaks. “Thank you Your Grace. As of today, we have received word from seven of the main houses who fought for the Blackfyre pretender in the war. Houses Reyne, Lydden, Costayne and Peake have all agreed to come to King’s Landing to face the King’s judgement.”

Michael Stone the master of whispers spoke then, his voice silky and deceptive. “So nice of the houses to agree to come and face the king’s judgement. When they should have come and thrown themselves at the feet of the king and begged for forgiveness.”

Maekar grits his teeth at the man’s words. He has never liked Stone, has mistrusted him as much as he mistrusted Bloodraven. Still when Lord Ullrick Dayne the master of laws speaks, he feels himself tighten his jaw even more. “It is good that they realise that their cause is lost. I still feel that we were to lenient on them last time the war broke out. I feel that it would be right to have House Reyne made an example of deeply so.”

Lord Domeric Bolton the master of coin spoke next. “I think House Reyne should be made an example of as well. They were the leading house to side with the Blackfyre pretender. Make an example of them, and when Stark tries to raise the north once more, the houses will hesitate to join him. House Osgrey should also be brought under examination as well.”

At that Maekar cannot hold his tongue any longer. “Go for House Osgrey, and next time the Blackfyres invade you will drive half of the Reach into the hands of the Blackfyres and Bittersteel. Addam Osgrey did the Iron Throne a great service during the war, to reward him by questioning his loyalty is not the best way to do that. No leave Osgrey out of this, and focus on House Reyne. Is Robb Reyne still breathing?”

At that Michael Stone chuckles. “Oh yes My prince, he still breathes if barely. Perhaps we can use him to negotiate the release of Lord Tully?”

Maekar grimaces. Lord Tully was still held in his cell in Moat Cailin, his uncles had been slain during the war all three of them. “Very well, what terms shall we give for his release? Daeron Stark shall want favourable terms once more.”

Aerys speaks then. “I will not give more to that traitor. He is responsible for the deaths that have plagued Westeros. More so than Brynden or Daemon Blackfyre. If he wants leniency for those that fought for the black dragon he can bury those hopes. Those lords that fought for Aemon Blackfyre shall be pardoned but shall have most of their lands confiscated from them and shall give hostages to the throne to ensure their loyalty. Robb Reyne shall be held in the black cells until Lord Brynden Tully is freed from his cell. Those are the terms that shall be given to Stark.”

Maekar grimaces, he knows Daeron will not accept those terms and yet there is no way to make these lords see that. And so he merely nods and then asks. “Who shall be going to present these terms to Daeron Stark then?”

All the lords look at him then and Aerys says softly. “Why you shall brother. Daeron Stark will listen to you, no one else will be good enough.”

Maekar sighs, and nods his head in agreement. And so letters fly back and forth, and two moons after that discussion Maekar rides forth with some 100 men towards the north and Winterfell, wondering what sort of reception he shall receive this time around. When they reach Moat Cailin, a letter is given to him by the castle maester, and in it he reads words written by Aegon! His son was separated from Ser Duncan after the battle of the Stoney Sept, thankfully though he was still with his shaved head, and so managed to make his way back to King’s Landing, having arrived about two weeks before the letter arrived.

Maekar is in a much better mood then when the gates of Winterfell come into view and he gets down from his horse and greets his old friend. “Daeron.”

“Maekar.” Daeron replies.

“It has been a long time my friend.” Maekar says.

“Aye that it has. Come now, we shall catch up first, and tomorrow we can discuss why you have come here.” Daeron replies.

And so it is that on the second moon of the 216th year after Aegon’s Landing that Maekar Targaryen a Prince of the Blood arrives in Winterfell, for a second treaty between dragons and wolves.


	22. Steel (Cry In the Night)

**Bittersteel**

Beneath the Gold, the Bittersteel those were the unofficial words of the Golden Company, the words which his sellsword company had adopted as their unofficial motto shortly after a campaign in the Disputed Lands in which they had smashed all the other sellsword companies to pieces and won the lands for Lys. He had asked Lord Strickland why the men had adopted that as their motto, and the man- Daemon’s goodfather- had replied rather jokingly that it was because the men were so ‘in awe of his ruthlessness and stubbornness.’ For a man who had never truly been liked by those at the court of the Falseborn or even by most of Daemon’s other advisors, the fact that the men of the Company were willing to follow him through hell or high water meant a lot to him, and gave him a lot of pride though he would never openly admit to it.

They’d been fighting in the Disputed Lands once more, and this time the campaign had lasted for longer than expected, six moons instead of the usual two. They had fought for Lys once more, for the Golden Company was not like other sellsword companies selling themselves to the highest bidder, once they sided with one side on a conflict in the past, that side would get their loyalty in another conflict in the future, as of late it had not failed to pay dividends for them. Lys had won yet another battle against Myr and this time Tyrosh had entered the war late on the side of Lys as well, thankfully for Myr had been about to bring in Unsullied which would have made things much longer and more strenuous. The Dothraki savages had been enough of a hindrance as it was, Aegor was just glad that they had all been put to the sword now, less headaches for him.

After the fighting in the disputed lands, the company had been wined and dined in Lys and then Tyrosh, Myr was broken, their rulers put to the sword for their failure to hold the lands or even take them. Money had been given to the officers and the members, and all were content. It was only when they had returned to Tyrosh that they learnt of the second Blackfyre war and the death of yet another one of Aegor’s nephews. Aemon Blackfyre, the boy had survived Redgrass and had fled north to Daeron Stark, and had Daeron’s sister and gotten her with children, he had had the makings of a very good king, better than the Falseborn and the book king that much was for sure. He was dead though killed whilst killing the kinslayer; oh the irony was enough to make Aegor laugh had he not been so angry with the fact that the boy was dead.

It was only after speaking to their spy master; Garth Flowers that he learnt that the fighting in the Disputed Lands had been initiated by Bloodraven, the blasted kinslayer had known how to get the Golden Company distracted. For it seemed that the rulers of Myr and Lys were in fact the man’s allies, and Aegor had fumed and raged when he had heard that, the treachery, Lys, oh he had been tempted to sack the city and burn it all down to the ground. The only thing holding him back from doing so was the fact that the men were tired and weary, and he still remembered the one important lesson that airhead Fireball had told him and Daemon and Daeron long ago. “A man will fight and die for you when there is something for him, but when he is tired and broken he will flee and abandon you in a heartbeat.” And so the Golden Company brooded in Tyrosh instead of getting the justice that was rightfully theirs.

Still, as he looked out at the men training he supposed he still had the hold over Aerys and Maekar. His nephew’s son Aerion had joined the Golden Company not too long ago. Aegor had learnt that the boy had been wandering the free cities after being exiled from Westeros for something or the other, with no place to go, and with a lot of money and energy to burn, Aegor had sent Shiera his niece to find the boy in the streets of Tyrosh, and things had gone from there. It seemed that Aerion Targaryen was not as strong willed as his father was, and the boy had fallen quickly for Shiera’s charms and wit, and soon enough was trailing after her like a love sick puppy, frankly it was quite amusing for Aegor.

When the boy had found out who Shiera was and whom she lived with, Aegor had expected that he would act in rage and storm out, and yet surprisingly he had not done that, he had merely shrugged his shoulders and asked to join the company. Whilst they had been fighting in the Disputed Lands on this latest campaign, Aegor had asked the boy why he had wished to join the company, and the answers that the boy had given him had sounded so much like something he would say he had been struck silent. “My father cares not a whit for me, my siblings disown me. I have nowhere to go, why not make a name for myself fighting amongst some of the best known warriors this side of the narrow sea, rather than in a court of my bookish fool of a uncle? Besides, Shiera is here.”

The boy had proved himself, in the Disputed Lands killing many of the enemy soldiers and showing a good mind for tactics and strategy. Though of course at the back of his mind, Aegor always kept in mind what he had heard of the boy, he was mad that Aegor knew, some of the things he said were quite out there as were some of his actions, though he had never acted out in front of Shiera- thank the gods, otherwise Aegor would have killed him quicker than the eye could blink- in fact it seemed as if Shiera was actually helping him reach some sanity, the two were always together when they were not on the march, playing and doing things that children often did. To be frank Aegor found it all quite amusing, and though he was glad that his niece was happy and fond of the boy, if he thought that it would get in the way of what he wished to achieve, he would not hesitate to remove the boy from their path. Atleast that was what he had thought before being told that Shiera was with child, and would likely give birth soon. That had been eight moons ago. Gods things were going by so quickly.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Garth’s voice behind him. “My lords you asked me to speak with you?”

Aegor turned round from looking at the soldiers training and turned to look at the man. “Yes Garth I did, come stand here beside me.” When the man had done that, Aegor spoke once more. “Now tell me what news you have from across the sea.”

The man is silent for a moment and then says. “Prince Maekar has been named hand by Aerys Targaryen, and is currently in Winterfell to discuss peace terms with Daeron Stark.”

Aegor nods, he had not been surprised that Maekar would become hand, the man was ambitious but not so much as Bloodraven had been. “Very well, do you know what peace terms they will discuss?” Hopefully this time Daeron would be firmer than he had been at the end of the first war.

Garth is silent for a longer stretch of time, and then he says. “Aerys Targaryen wishes for Lord Brynden Tully to be released along with those other lords that Stark took prisoner during the war, in exchange for that those lords who fought for King Aemon shall be released and pardoned. Though Robb Reyne shall be executed, to make an example.”

Aegor snorts slightly at that. “So it seems that terms are much more lenient than what the Falseborn asked for. Aerys Targaryen must be facing much pressure from those on his council for such things to be put forward.”

Garth laughs then slightly, a musical thing his laugh. “Aye my lord. My sources report that the council is divided between those who were purely loyal to Bloodraven and those loyal to the king. Both the King and his hand know about Prince Aerion’s marriage to Shiera, and plan to disinherit him from the line of succession.”

Aegor nods. “I thought as much. Aerys was never that keen on anything but his books, he would have wedded them had the Falseborn allowed him to. Maekar will be king soon enough, and that leaves his line in a rather questionable state. His eldest is a drunkard correct?” Garth answers in the affirmative. “Not the best person for a successor. The realm would be beggared into poverty should such a boy become king. I want our friends in court to make sure a scenario arises that Aerion becomes primary in the line of succession.”

“Are you sure that is a wise idea my lord? The Westerosi do not know that Shiera is pregnant and is due to give birth soon enough. Why not wait and then make the move?” Garth asked.

Aegor sighed then and said. “Because there are those here in Essos who would seek to gain favours of us  and of Maekar by either hindering our progress or by giving the boy and his child over to death. I will not allow that to happen, better that we act now then when someone gets it into their head to a noble fool. Besides we shall be marching off soon enough, there is fighting in the east, and I mean for us to win more allies there.”

“Very well my lord. There has also been word from Volantis.” Garth says.

Aegor looks at him then and then says. “Oh, and what do the Triarchs have to say?”

“They have accepted the company’s offer. They have requested your presence in Volantis to chose your bride.” Garth replies.

Aegor breaks out into one of his rare smiles then and says. “I knew they would see sense. Very well, we shall stop of at Volantis on the way east, and I shall get my bride and more funds for the company. Soon enough we shall be strong enough to launch an invasion on Westeros.”

And so the weeks tick by and Aerion and Shiera’s child is born, a healthy boy with the traditional silvery hair and purple eyes of the blood of Old Valyria, they name the boy Aenar after the man who saved his family from the Doom. Aegor himself weds a Volanteene girl named Talisa, the daughter of Boro Maegyr the leading elephant in the Volanteene government. Thus giving the Golden Company more funds for a future invasion of Westeros, as well as giving them a very powerful ally for any potential contracts and resources for said invasion.

Though originally meant to be heading east towards Slaver’s Bay where there is a conflict brewing between Yunkai and Meeren, Aegor leads the Golden Company back to Tyrosh when news comes from Garth of a very special arrival. Of a ship washed ashore by the stray currents. Aegor arrives back in Tyrosh one dark night during summer, and finds himself staring at a couple of dark brown faces with the look of Westerosi about them. He snorts slightly. “Well what do we have here?” he asks mock curiously. “A couple of Dornishmen a long way from home.”

Garth speaks then. “That is not all we have my lord. There is also a princess.”

Aegor’s ears perk up at that. “A princess you say? Let me see this princess.”

And when the men bring forth a woman dressed in a woollen cloak her silver hair spilling from her hood, Aegor feels as if the gods have dropped a gift into his hands. “Ah well, well Daenaerys it has been a while. I trust your voyage was going well?”

Before the woman can respond though, Garth speaks once more. “There was another person as well with her. Bring her forth.”

Another woman is brought forward, her hood still drawn, though when Garth pulls her hood down, and Aegor sees who it is, he feels his heart stop. “Shiera? Shiera Seastar.”

* * *

 

**King Daeron Stark**

Winterfell, the strongest castle in the north, had stood for eight thousand years, and would continue to stand for many thousands of more years. The Starks had always ruled the north from Winterfell, and now they ruled the north and the Iron Islands, there was a certain sense of pride that Daeron got whenever he looked at the map of his kingdom, and the fact that his lords were loyal to him was unquestionable. They had proved that by fighting in this war, a war that the kinslayer had started, a war that had bled the south dry for many years to come. He knew that Bittersteel would wish to launch an invasion, but hopefully it would not be for some time, the north needed time to rest and breathe a fresh.

This was especially true due to the fact that, there was yet another peace party here from the Iron Throne. Daeron might hate the south and the Targaryens, but he knew that he needed to honour such things, as it would not do to dishonour the north or his people, by making it appear as if he was ungrateful that the Targaryens had come north to seek peace, just as they had the first time round. Enough to bend their foolish pride and come and seek peace, when this time they most definitely had been in the wrong, and the blood of the war was on their hands, on the hands of that one eyed fool who had thought himself a god, but had been killed by Aemon.

As such that was why court had been called into session, the lords and ladies of the north were gathered in the great hall of Winterfell, whilst Daeron and Dacey Stark, King and Queen of the North sat on their thrones, with the knights of the Winter’s Guard, Lord Commander Theon Stark, Asphell Wull, Rickard Karstark, Willam Stark, Jeyne Mormont, Edrick Strongaxe, Beron Snow, Derrick Flint and Borros Sunderland stood at the feet of the steps leading up the throne. There was some murmuring amongst the court, as they waited for the herald to announce the guests who would come to present the Iron Throne’s terms to the King of Winter, the Winter Dragon.

The doors opened and the herald spoke loudly then silencing the chatter of the court. “Presenting Prince Maekar of House Targaryen and Lord Horton of House Hayford.”

As Daeron watched his friend walk into the throne room, he could not but think that his friend looked as if he had aged some forty years in the time since they had last met. There were lines and dark rings under his eyes, and a weary and tired look about him that had not been there the last time Daeron had laid eyes upon Maekar, his friend. This Horton Hayford was a surprise as well, neither Ethan’s whispers nor Edwyle’s findings knew that this man was coming as well, he was a new player to this game, and Daeron knew he would have to tread carefully with the man here.

“Your Grace.” Maekar said bowing slightly.

“Prince Maekar.” Daeron said politely. “Stand my friend, and say what you have come to say.”

Maekar nodded and then unfurled a piece of paper and read aloud from it. “I come in the name of his grace King Aerys Targaryen, the first of his name and King of the Seven Kingdoms. I come bearing the terms of a peace offer, as well as the acknowledgement of the secession of lands from the Vale.”

There was some murmuring at that though it stopped when Daeron raised his hand. “I would hear these terms. Go on.”

“King Aerys wishes for us to reach a peace. In order to do so, he asks that you release Lord Brynden Tully, as well as the other highborn hostages you took during the war. In exchange for this, his grace promises to return those hostages that were taken from the rebels, and pardon them whilst taking their children as wards to ensure their good behaviour.” Maekar said clearly and loudly.

Daeron nodded, though inside he was smiling, so it seemed that the Targaryens were not feeling so bold after all. They had lost pretty much all of the battles during this war, only sitting on the throne still because Aemon had died, and Daeron was not willing to give his men for slaughter. He chose his words carefully when he spoke next. “I thank you for coming here Prince Maekar, and for stating these terms. If it is alright with you, I would like for some time to discuss this with my council and then I will get back to you.”

Maekar was about to speak when Horton Hayford spoke for the first time, his voice angry. “Why do you need time to consider Stark? The king has offered you the terms, you knew what they were going to be. Either accept them or hand over the Blackfyre scum and your whore of a sister and daughter, and this can all end now.”

Daeron bristles at the man’s words, Dacey’s hand in his the only thing stopping him from getting up and gutting the man there and then. The court is humming now like an angry pack of bees, all wanting the southerner blood. Daeron speaks before blood is shed. “Lord Hayford, whilst I thank you for your words of advice. I must say that I do not appreciate your tone, as you are a guest in my home, I ask that you mind your tongue, unless you wish to have it removed. Now please allow me some time to speak with my council before I give you a response.”

“Of course Your Grace.” Maekar replies and with that they leave the room and other court business is brought forth.

Later on that night, Daeron is sat in his solar with Dacey present, the windows open and a cup of wine in his hand. Dacey is sat on his lap, her skin flushed her breath quick. “You knew that those were the terms that Maekar was going to offer did you not my love?” she asks.

“Hmmm. I did my love. But I needed to make them wait. The terms are good, but I wanted to see what Horton Hayford would do. I needed to see what sort of man he was.” Daeron replies.

Dacey begins kissing his neck, but in between kisses she asks him. “So, what do you make of him my love?”

“Hmmmm,” Daeron purrs. “I still do not know I shall have to speak with Maekar once this is all done and find more out about him.” After that conversation is not the focal point of either their attentions and for that period of time, Daeron is able to forget all about the treaty, the south and politics and simply concentrate on pleasing his wife.

The next day though, Daeron has to be all business, the court is called into session to listen to the King’s decision, and as Daeron sits atop the weirwood throne that the Stark lords have sat upon for thousands of years he can sense the tension in the hall. His nobles wonder what other insults the southerners will throw at him and them. “Bring them in.” Is all he says before the doors open and Maekar and Lord Hayford walk in.

“Prince Maekar, Lord Hayford, I thank you for your patience on this matter. I have had time to discuss the treaty and its terms with my councillors, and as such I feel it is good to agree to such a thing. Lord Tully and the other hostages we took during the war shall be freed, in exchange for the freeing of the prisoners the Iron Throne took and for their pardons as well.” Daeron says.

There is some murmuring in the hall, and then Maekar speaks. “Very well Your Grace. We thank you for accepting the terms. As such if you could sign the documents we have here that would be most pleasing.”

Daeron nods and gestures for the documents to be handed over to him, when they are he reads them quickly and then asks for a quill and ink, dipping the quill into the inkpot he signs his name to the documents. That done he hands them back to the Maekar and then says. “Very well, now that is done, I may officially announce what has been decided. Lords Tully and the other hostages will be freed from where they sit in Moat Cailin, the orders have been sent out in exchange those lords take captive by the Targaryens shall be freed and pardoned. Furthermore, the Iron Throne has formally recognised the three sisters secession from the Vale and joining with the north.” There was a great cheer at that, and then the feast began and lasted well into the night.

A few days later, Maekar and he were sat in his solar talking about old times, and decidedly avoiding the subject of the war and other prickly issues. “Remember that time when Rhaegal got flower all over Aelinor’s septa? And then ran and hid behind Baelor, whilst the septa when screaming for him?” Daeron said laughing.

Maekar smiled as well. “If I remember correctly we both took the fall for that did we not? Something about honour and protecting the innocent?”

Daeron laughs then. “Yes something like that.”

Maekar sighs then and takes a sip of the wine in his cup. “I still remember when Fireball had a go at Rhaegal for something and we both leapt to his defence I’ve never seen the man so angry before .”

Daeron laughs and then says. “The man did occasionally need to be reminded that he was not the only one with a powerful sword hand. But why this sudden bout of melancholy Maekar? It’s not like you.”

His friend sighs and then says. “I know that perhaps I should not say this, but I worry about the future Daeron. We are both reasonable men, but our children might not be. Rhaegal is gone as are his children. Bloodraven is gone as well, but there is still so much rot in the system that I must clean up before peace can be firmly established. And I know not whether there will be a chance for it to happen.”

Daeron is silent for a moment before he asks. “What do you mean rot Maekar? Do you fear there are traitors in your ranks?”

Maekar snorts and then sardonically replies. “My mere friendship with you meant I could not fight in the war. My son was used as leverage against me and went missing for some time. Of course there are traitors in the ranks. Aerys was so beholden to Bloodraven for so long that I fear he has forgotten how to think properly. But no it is not my place to comment.”

Daeron sighs then and says. “Very well old friend, but what of this Horton Hayford? Who is he?”

Maekar snorts once more and says. “An up jumped lord who thinks the world shines out of his own arse. You heard him during that first court session, the boy is hot headed and that will get him killed. He is nothing like his grandfather, nothing at all like his father. Soon he will do something that will get him killed.”

“But then why did he come with you Maekar? Why said someone like that?” Daeron asks, wondering if his friend will give him an answer.

Maekar merely looks at him and says. “I cannot answer that my friend.”

Daeron merely nods and they spend the rest of their time drinking and talking. Eventually Maekar and the party he came with leave after another two days in Winterfell. When they reach King’s Landing, Daeron receives word that the southern Blackfyre prisoners are released and heading back to their respective camps he orders the southern Targaryen prisoners freed from King’s Landing. And so peace is restored once more, for the time being, knowing Bittersteel though, Daeron wonders how long this will last.


	23. The Lunk And the Wave

**Dunk**

Oh how nice it was to be back in King’s Landing, the feeling of home was nice and pure. The sights and smells of the city, the raggedness of it all, it was all such a nice feeling, Dunk didn’t even mind the smell nor the constant sense of being watched anymore, and he knew from looking at Egg- sorry Prince Aegon- that the lad felt the same way. They had been away for far too long. All because Egg had had a conscience and decided that what his uncle Bloodraven had plotted to do during the Whitewalls Tourney was unacceptable and broke every oath that someone of the blood was supposed to live up to. They had paid for that, at first when they had been summoned to court, Dunk had feared it might mean his life and the boy would be sent to the Wall, after all they had helped Daemon Blackfyre flee north and had actually spoken with Daeron Stark both of whom were traitors to the crown, making them and their actions treasonous. Their exile, Dunk thought had been a light way to get off, a view that Aegon’s father had shared, telling them that Bloodraven had wanted them both put to the whip and then had more things, horrible things done to them.

They had left King’s Landing that day, with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and some meagre food supplies and swords. They had wandered around the kingdoms for months at a time trying to find work, but finding that it was very hard to come by, they had to avoid the places where they had set foot in beforehand, for it was likely that Bloodraven would have sent word out and Egg’s hair no longer remained short for very long. As such though, they managed to find the odd vestments of work here and there, they worked as a sellsword and his squire in the Saltpans dealing with some bandits who were proving troublesome, something that earnt Dunk his fair share of scars and had given Egg his first taste of battle. They had then ventured towards Seagard, where Lord Mallister was plagued by Pirates, and there they had fought the pirates and then some other handiwork for the man, though Dunk had been sure to keep Egg away from the man’s sight for long, as the man did seemingly have an overt fondness for him.

Those two engagements lasted roughly six moons and then they ventured southwards to the Reach, where they took service with Lord Desmond Florent, a proud man old and blind who suffered no insults, and strangely reminded Dunk of Ser Eustace Osgrey, though that man had died some years ago. Lord Florent had them ploughing and tilling his fields along with his other men, as well as fighting some skirmishes with peasants who had become unruly. In total they spent six moons in Brightwater Keep, mainly because Dunk was getting tired of wandering around the kingdoms with a constant fear in his heart, they could not go to Summerhall nor could they go back to King’s Landing otherwise they would have faced the strictest of punishments. And so when the new year came in they left Brightwater Keep for Dorne, spending time once more with Lord Ullrick Dayne and helping him keep his bannermen, especially the Daynes of High Hermitage in order, there was some serious fighting going between the two branches of House Dayne, it seemed Lord Ullrick’s cousin Dolt was a proud man who thought he should be the main Lord Dayne, and so there was months of political strife and then bloody fighting before it ended with Dolt’s death, after that they left for Salt Shore and spent time serving with Lord Gargalen, Aegon’s second cousin or something to that degree.

From there they ventured not to Sunspear but to the Water Gardens where Princess Daenaerys was, and there they spent their time relaxing and getting some much needed rest from their travels. Daenaerys herself, seemed older and younger somehow, the Princess whom Daemon Blackfyre had made a kingdom bleed for, no longer it seemed thought of her once love, and instead thought simply of her children and her husband. The Martells had been told to inform Bloodraven should he and Egg arrive, and yet Daenaerys did not like Bloodraven and so their presence there was kept a secret and as such it allowed them to get away from Dorne and the Water Gardens before Egg’s father and aunt arrived with his sisters. From there they ventured into the Stormlands and the service of Lord Lyonel Baratheon, a proud man who kept them well fed and armoured them up with proper equipment allowing them the best of the Stormlands, and then the war broke out and they were summoned back to King’s Landing for the war.

Dunk had fought in battles and skirmishes, but never a proper war, and now he was sure he would never wish to fight in such a thing ever again. It was horrible, he fought at the Stoney Sept where Bloodraven was killed as was Aemon Blackfyre, but somehow he and Egg had been separated from one another during the course of the battle, when it was over and done Dunk spend ages looking for the lad, and when he did not find him for the longest time he worried that the lad was dead, lying in a ditch somewhere a sword through his bowels. However, as the armies broke camp, Dunk heard word that a silver haired prince had been found in the Stark camp, and fearing the worse he broke into the back end of the Stark camp and there he found Egg lying with wounds all over his body, he had fought and engaged in a battle with several other squires and won, though at a severe cost to himself. Dunk stole him from the camp and they fled into the marshes away from both camps and scouts, and he took Egg to a healer he had heard the old man talk about more than once in his own squiring days, where Egg was patched up and healed, and they then ventured south to King’s Landing.

Prince Maekar had been away north when they arrived at the gates of the city, but with Bloodraven dead and Maekar the king’s hand, all it had taken was to show the guards Egg’s ring, and they were let into the city. When the Prince returned he told them that their exile had been ended and that they were to remain in King’s Landing for a time, to allow Aegon’s injuries to heal properly, though Dunk suspected it was also because the Prince had been deeply worried that his son was about to die, and now he also knew that with Prince Aerion having joined the Golden Company, the Prince was worried what would happen to his own family. And now that was how Dunk found himself patrolling the space outside Egg’s rooms waiting for his squire to come back, there was to be a tourney today to celebrate his knighthood and to celebrate his return to the city and Dunk needed to speak with him, and yet the lad was nowhere to be found.

Eventually he heard some movement behind the lad’s door and knocked once more, and when bid enter he found Egg looking rather dishevelled. “Where have you been lad? I’ve been standing outside for a good twenty minutes now.”

“I, I was with Rhae Ser. I needed to speak to her about something.” Egg stammers.

Dunk chuckles. “Speak with her about something eh lad? More like do something with her. Now regardless of that, your tourney is on today and I need to speak with you about it.”

“It’s our tourney Dunk. Both of us, my father knows all you’ve done for our family and the people love you as well.” Egg said.

“Aye whatever you say lad. But now that you are back home, I wish to bid my leave of you. You are sixteen now lad, you don’t need some big lunk of a man to follow anymore. After today, you shall be knighted and you won’t need a hedge knight. I will bid my leave.” Dunk said quickly.

Egg looks at him and then says. “But where would you go Ser? King’s Landing is as much your home as it is mine. Why leave now, I could ask my father to make you part of the guard.”

“That won’t be necessary lad. I wish to go travelling more, and now you are a man grown soon enough your father will find you a wife to wed, and then you will settle down and have children. You can’t go traipsing round the kingdoms with me.” Dunk says, hating how chocked he feels now.

Egg merely stares at him for a long moment before simply nodding. Dunk next sees Egg at the tourney grounds, the jousting has just begun and Dunk has saddled up to compete, beating Ser Garot Fossway in one tilt, Ser Desmond Brune in one tilt, Ser Roland Crakehall Lord Commander of the Kingsguard in two tilts, and Ser Marcus Baratheon in three tilts. It seems as though his tourney performances have improved, he supposes he has better aim and strength now as well. But then he comes up against Egg and he finds himself unable to do much more except break lances against his former squire, continuously, the final joust this is, on and on it goes, until on seventh tilt Egg manages to raise his lance high enough to knock Dunk square on his rump. The commons cheer loudly and Dunk watches with something akin to pride as Egg collects the crown of roses and then places it square on Princess Rhae’s head.

At the feast that night, Dunk was stood outside letting the warm summer air breath past him, the King had formally announced that Egg and Princess Rhae were betrothed and would soon enough marry, after winning the jousting Egg had been knighted by Ser Roland Crakehall, and had shone like a million beacons, just another indication to Dunk that his time with the Targaryens was coming to an end. Perhaps he could go and find Tanselle and get that kiss she had promised him, he’d looked for so long for her, you’d think he’d forget about her, but no he still dreamed of her.

“Ser Duncan.” A Deep voice said behind him.

Dunk turned round and saw Prince Maekar, the hand of the king standing in the doorway. “My Prince.” Dunk said bowing.

The Hand walked towards Dunk and then stood next to him looking out over the city. “Aegon tells me you mean to leave King’s Landing after tomorrow, to go travelling. He is most upset about it, though he would not have you think so.”

Dunk is silent for a moment before he says. “Prince Aegon is a man grown now my Prince. He does not need a hedge knight to follow anymore; he has responsibilities that go beyond travelling with me. It is time we both moved on.”

The Prince is silent for a long moment and then what he says next shocks Dunk. “True but I do not think that is something either of you want. I know that Aegon is very fond of you, and sees you as the older brother, Daeron and Aerion never were. And if I am right in thinking, you do not wish to leave either. And so I suggest a compromise, there are vacancies on the Kingsguard that need to be filled, why not fill one of those vacancies. You have proven that you are dedicated to protecting my son and will give you life for him if need be, and you are very good with a sword it would be perfect.”

“I am honoured my prince, but why me? I am but a commoner from Flea Bottom. Surely the Kingsguard should be filled with the best knights of the realm from the big families.” Dunk says.

Prince Maekar snorts then and says. “Those knights are full of hot air. No ser, you would do honour to the Kingsguard. Accept or not, the choice is yours. Just think carefully before you do.” With that the Prince walks away and goes back to the feast, leaving Dunk with a lot of thinking to do.

Dunk stays on in King’s Landing after the feast and tourney all wrap up, and when he eventually gives Prince Maekar his answer, at the next tourney held in King’s Landing which is held to celebrate the Queen’s nameday, in front of half the realm Ser Roland Crakehall the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard places the white cloak on his shoulders and helps him rise as Ser Duncan of the Kingsguard. His fellow sworn brothers other than the lord commander include, Ser Donnel of Duskendale, Ser Oberyn Dayne, Ser Broderick Storm, Ser Gwayne Gaunt and Ser Ballard Bracken.

He learns quickly why the Kingsguard duties are harder than they appear in the songs, he has conflicting duties often times that leave him stumped, but he knows first and foremost that he cannot question the King, even when the King’s desire to read instead of bed his queen, means that soon enough there might be yet another war within Westeros for that simply reason.

Still his first year in the Kingsguard passes by without any conflict whatsoever, and on the day of Egg and Princess Rhae’s wedding, Dunk has never felt so full of pride as he does when he hears Egg walk away from the Sept of Baelor a married man. Perhaps there is hope for them all after all, he has come from Flea Bottom to the Kingsguard after all.

* * *

 

**Lord Davos Sunderland**

The waves were beating down against the rocks on the ground, a sight that he had heard since childhood. Davos Sunderland got out of his bed and groaned, he was an old man now, and nowhere near his prime anymore, had he ruled the Three Sisters wisely for fifty years ever since his own old man had died during the Conquest of Dorne. He had lived through the reign of four kings and was now on his fifth king, still there was an ache in his bones and it had nothing to do with old age.

When Daemon Blackfyre had called his banners to rebellion, the Three Sisters had sided with him, and Davos had still been in his prime then, and had ridden out with his men to fight alongside the northmen, he had fought at the Twins and then at Oldstones and then in the taking of Harrenhal, before retreating with the northmen when Daemon died at Redgrass. Fearing retribution from the Eyrie and the Iron Throne, Davos had gone to Winterfell and had bent the knee to Daeron Stark the Winter Dragon. The Winter Dragon was a man worthy of Davos’ fealty and respect, a strong warrior and with a good and smart head on his shoulders, the man had brought peace, prosperity and trade to his kingdom, and with that the Three Sisters had benefitted, gold, silk, spice all came to the Three Sisters along with the choicest pieces of information as well, information that Davos used to further the cause of his people at the court of Winterfell,

The only downside of being pledged to Winterfell was the fact that the Blackfyres continued to remain a living presence there. For the Winter Dragon would never give them up so long as he lived and breathed, and that therefore meant that there would be more war and death before either the Blackfyres stopped breathing or the Targaryens were wiped out from the realm. As such Davos had sent his sons Edrick and Daeron off to war this time around, his bones were not good for fighting anymore, and both boys had come back as bones, killed by some southern bastard during the fighting. Now his grandson Daemon would be Lord after him, and his bannermen were beginning to stir and complain about outside influence.

He knew many of them wished to break off from the north and gain independence, just like the Three Sisters were before the coming of the Andals, and whilst he had to admit such an idea did have its appeal, there was no way in the seven hells that the Three Sisters would be able to sustain such a thing for any long duration of time. Breaking away from the north would require fighting the northern armies stationed at White Harbour, for Daeron Stark would never let them go now they had sworn fealty, to do so would make him look weak like the Targaryens. Even if they somehow managed to prove successful, they would always be at risk from facing the wrath of the Eyrie and the Iron Throne, and they would not be able to ask Winterfell for aid then.

There was not much in it for them, then to become free peoples once more. Better to remain part of the Kingdom of the North and the Iron Islands, and prosper through trade and through having a place on the council, or at least the ear of a councilman in Jonnel Manderly. For whilst Davos’ own great nephew was a member of the King’s Winter’s Guard, Jonnel Manderly was married to Davos’ sister, and so any concerns he had could be voiced through Manderly. Still there was some part of him that wanted his own representation on the council, and not through a third party. That was one of the few things that had tempted Davos into breaking free and declaring independence, the fact that he wished for his own concerns to be voiced and not pushed to the side, like there was the constant risk of it happening now under the Winter Dragon’s council. Still he was weary of doing such a thing, and thought it better to wait and see what happened.

After all it had been two years since the second Blackfyre war and the deaths of his boys as well as of Aemon Blackfyre, and, the peace had lasted and seemed as if it could last a great deal longer. Davos felt that there was no need to rock the boat, no need to bite the hand that fed them, no matter what Criston Borrell said or complained about. The days in which the Three Sisters ruled themselves and did not face invasion had died the same day the King of the Waves had died, during the age of heroes. No now was not the time to pursue foolish notions of independence, now was the time to pursue a policy of getting into the Winter Dragon’s good books.

This was why Davos had called his court together, a member of Daeron Stark’s court had come to speak with him about trade terms, but before such things could be discussed there was the small matter of the Vale Pirates who had been caught raiding along the coast of Sisterton. The men brought before him, were bold and strong, sent by the throne no doubt, sent to break the trust between Winterfell and Sisterton. “You are accused of piracy. Piracy is a crime both in the Winter Dragon’s kingdom and of that of the south. Do you deny these charges?” Davos asked his voice harsh sounding.

The leader of the men merely looked at him and said. “No my lord we do not. But you must wonder how we got so far forward when there are defensive lines across the coast no?”

“I do not need to wonder, you are pirates, the ships were burnt by your men’s treacherous methods and as such you shall pay by death.” Davos replied.

The leader of the group laughs deeply then. “Ah my lord, kill us and the root of your problem only grows. Look to your own people as well when we are dead, and see who will pirate you for all you have.”

“I have had enough of this man’s nonsense, take him to the gallows and then feed him to the waves.” Davos says curtly, and sure enough the man is hanged and then fed to the waves as are his companions. Later though, much later when Davos sits alone in his rooms with his wife he speaks his worries. “What the man said is true my love. There are those who should have defended the coast better, but did not. Borrell was in charge of that and yet he denies knowing the pirates would be here, or that they would attack in such large numbers. I cannot attack him without appearing weak.”

His wife, his dear Alysanne, who has been his companion for forty years nods and says. “But then how will you gain the respect of Winterfell now my love? The ambassador saw you look weak here, things will need to be done to make sure that word does not get back to Winterfell, just how strenuous our hold of the islands are.”

“Aye but I cannot outright say that these pirates were sent by Arryn. No not even the Winter Dragon will stomach that, not when the peace is lasting for now. Not when Bittersteel is building up an army to help us, no we need time and so if I need to throw Borrell under the waves I shall but not yet.” Davos replies.

The next day Davos meets with Beron Stark the man sent by King Daeron to speak with him about various things. “My lord I trust you have enjoyed your stay so far in the Three Sisters?” Davos asks.

“Aye my lord I have. It has been very pleasant. But of course we both know that is not the main reason for my visit. I have come to speak with you on behalf of his grace King Daeron Stark. The King wonders if you will be able to sufficiently control your bannermen, after all if the rumours are true and Borrell allowed the pirates onto your land, then that does breed a very worrying thing for the king.” Beron Stark says.

Davos swallows slightly and then says. “The give my assurances to the King, that I am doing all in my power to investigate what happened to allow these pirates onto my lands, and should I find that one of my bannermen was responsible for this lapse in defence then I shall severly punish them myself.”

Beron Stark nods and then says. “That is good my lord, the king will be most pleased to hear that. The other issue the King wished for me to bring up was that of the faith. Has the Septon here been preaching against the king? Our sources report that he has, and I have been wondering that myself.”

At that Davos sighs and says softly. “The previous Septon had been preaching fervently against His Grace, but once the news reached my ears I dealt with the man by feeding him to the waves. I assure you that I will not allow anybody to speak treason of his grace, and shall deal with the faith, they know their place now.”

“That is good my lord. Still, his grace was wondering what the chances of the Faith here trying to rebel would be against your rule and that of the King?” Stark asks.

“Slim my lord. The Faith knows its place truly it does, they will not rebel nor will they side with any who rebel.” Davos replies.

“Very well then. That is all.” Stark says and then later that day he boards a ship for White Harbour and Davos feels slightly more safe and secure in the knowledge that his fealty to Winterfell has been made the more apparent.

As he walks back into his solar after seeing Lord Beron off, he calls for Maester Goodall. “Maester send a raven for Criston Borrell and inform him that I mean to ask him about this whole pirate business.”

“Yes my lord.” The maester replies.

“Also maester,” Davos begins. “Send for Daemon the boy must needs know a few things before we can be ready for Borrell.” Once the maester has gone and has Daemon has entered, Davos looks at his grandson, tall and strong just like his father the lad turned twenty two a few moons back, and proved himself in the second Blackfyre war, but still there are things he will need to learn before he can become the Lord of the Sisters. “Sit down Daemon there are things you must know.” And so they discuss the issues that are most pressing in Davos’ mind, Winterfell, Borrell and other issues until the early hours of the next morning.

Davos sits on the balcony, and listens to the waves lap against the rocks, thinking back to his youth and all that he did, the wars, the raiding, the travels and fun and the peace. Most of all he thinks of all that he has planned should war come again to Westeros, the Sisters shall remain peaceful and will benefit from whatever comes out on top during the next wave of battles, he is sure of that. He will not let it be otherwise, the waves begin to lull him to sleep when there is a tap on his shoulder. He stirs and looks at his grandson, wordlessly Daemon hands him a letter and he feels something within him sink, Borrell and Longsister have opened their banners in rebellion. War, gods damned war. There will be no peace now.


	24. Hells Bells

**Lord Criston Borrell**

Cold, that was anyone from outside of the Three Sisters thought of the islands where Criston Borrell Lord of House Borrell lived. It was sickening to him, for years his people had done their time fighting for the Falcons in their mountain tops with their gods’ damned honour and pride, thinking they were better than everyone, and then the dragons had come and the falcons no longer flew free. The dragons they had come and thought themselves all above the rest simply because of their winged monstrosities and then those beasts had died and now the dragons were cowering before the wolves, liked whipped curs. Some of his commanders had asked him why he was rebelling, or whom he was rebelling against Winterfell or Lord Sunderland, in truth Criston himself was not entirely sure, all he knew was that with all the chaos in the realm at the moment, now was perhaps the best chance they would get at freedom and independence, but Davos Sunderland was too much of an old woman to see it, and so he would pay the price for his follies with blood.

Desmond Longthorpe however, held no such qualms about rebelling. Winterfell was preoccupied with the Blackfyres, and besides Daeron Stark had never really paid all that much attention to the Sisters beforehand, and so Longthorpe had suggested they stage their rebellion now. There were risks, good things always had risks attached to them, but Criston was certain they could triumph, rebel, and force Sunderland’s hand, Sunderland was an old done man, his grandson a green boy with no experience in war, it should be an easy fight, that was what they had predicted and so it had been. Together House Borrell and House Longthorpe had managed to muster some 2,000 men against the 1,500 men that House Sunderland had levied, though of course House Sunderland’s retainers had always been notoriously fickle when it came to such things as payment and such and so in the time it had taken Sunderland to raise his men, some of the key holdfasts and villages amongst the islands already belonged to House Borrell.

Oakshield had fallen relatively bloodlessly, the leader of that village was an old friend of Criston’s and so when he had come knocking had managed to convince the vast majority of his fellow villagers to bend the knee to Criston, there had of course been the odd old fool who would refuse to submit, they had been made an example of and their heads still decorated the village walls. Fallorn had fallen to Criston’s forces as well, though that battle had been a hard fought one, some of Criston’s own men came from the village and as such were reluctant to fight their kinsmen, still once the chief of the village had fallen to the arrows and fire, the rest came along and bent the knee like the good sheep that they were. With Fallorn bent, Sweetsister now belonged completely to the alliance, and Criston moved his men to Longsister to aid Desmond in the taking of the island completely. Whilst Sweetsister held Sisterton to strike the city now without the full control of the villages and their chiefs their campaign would fall flat on its arse.

Longthorpe was a much more uphill battle, the village chiefs were loyal not to House Longthorpe but more to themselves, Criston had thought that perhaps they could use the village rivalries to their benefit, but no, the onetime such divisions could have come in handy, the chiefs bandied together and began a raiding campaign of the combined alliance’s storage supplies. That had caused some tension amongst the generals within the army, some had been in favour of ending the fighting there and then, others had wanted to strike the villages and burn them to the ground to send a message. Criston had offered a third option, one that he thought all would be able to abide by. Single combat with the leader of the village alliance, if the alliance champion won the duel, the villagers would join them in their march, if the villages champion won, then the alliance would move on. The idea was debated for a long time, before it was eventually approved. Criston suggested himself as the champion, he knew he was by far and away the best swordsman in the islands, and would stand a much better chance of winning than any champion the villagers would send out.

The villagers had agreed and had of course sent their biggest fighter for the duel, a man known simply as Strongaxe, a big brute of a man who fought with an axe. He was strong Criston would give him that; the blows he had dealt Criston had hurt like nothing that he had ever felt before either on the battlefield or in the training yard. Still what Strongaxe had in strength he lacked in discipline, he exhausted himself going for the big swings and the death blows early on, all the while Criston blocked the swings or allowed them to strike his body, or his armour, and watched as the man tired out. When he was sure that Strongaxe would not retaliate he put all of his effort into his sword swings. That was how he won the duel, swinging and hacking away at Strongaxe’s defences like his life depended on it. Truly it did, and eventually with a parry and then a thrust Strongaxe fell to the ground dead, Criston’s sword buried in his throat.

After that, the village chiefs agreed to bend the knee to them and on they marched conquering the remaining villages on the outskirts of Longthorpe that had not joined the village alliance. With that they set their sights on Littlesister the seat of House Torrent. Lord Borros Torrent was an old man, who was very, very proud and brooded on every insult he had supposedly been dealt, there was a history of bad blood between the Torrents and the Sunderlands, and Criston had thought that perhaps that could be used. However, it seemed Borros Torrent’s loyalty had remained in check, for whatever reason, and so now his island would fall victim to their progress. And so it had, it had taken the burning of Tor, Gor, and Lor before Borros Torrent stirred himself from his castle to send his men to fight, and that battle had been short and swift, ending with the end of House Torrent as Borros and his son and grandson were all slain when the castle was stormed.

With the levies of House Torrent, they set their eyes for Sisterton, and soon enough Criston would become king, and sit the throne of a thousand waves as had been his right from birth, as the last true descendant of the Lady of the Waves. Soon enough he would get justice for all the wrongs done to his family and his people over the years. He could taste it, he could smell it. Victory, ah a beautiful thing.

The battle began with their boats docking in on the port of Sisterton, the ship guards were all Borrell men and so their presence went unquestioned, those who thought to raise the alarm were either silenced or killed. On they marched, through the port bringing down those who were of uncertain loyalty, until they reached the gates of the port that would bring them into Sisterton proper. There they found the city watch commander stood waiting for them. Ser Garin Stone, a sour man and an old one as well. “Lord Borrell, Lord Longthorpe. Pray tell me what you are doing here at this late hour? And with such a big force of men as well?”

Criston snorted. “Do not pretend you do not know why we are here Ser Garin. You know full well about the rebellion, and as such I would ask that you respectively move aside, so we do not have to kill you.”

Ser Garin smiled slightly then. “Aye, whilst it is true that I knew about your rebellion I must confess that I find it highly inappropriate of me to defect from my position simply because you are bedding my niece Lord Criston and as such I must fight you.”

“With what army Stone? The city watch is not behind you.” Lord Longthorpe said impatiently.

Ser Garin smiled once more, slyly this time. “Oh but are they not Lord Desmond? Tell me who are those people I see coming from the distance behind you?”

And as soon as those words had left his mouth, there was a horn blown and battle began once more. The city watch of Sisterton numbered only some 500 men, but they were trained warriors, and so the fighting was bloody. Hacking and slashing Criston fought, bloodying his sword, and chopping men to pieces, the fighting continued, he took a few blows to his hands and legs, as well as his chest, his armour was dented in several places. Eventually though, the combined forces of Longsister, Sweetsister and Littlesister overwhelmed the city watch of Sisterton, and the battle came to an end, Ser Garin Stone himself was found with his body cut into a thousand tiny pieces, blood leaked into the wood and spilled over into the water, Criston sighed, such a good man, he could have been useful. “Kick his body over. Let the sharks feast on him.” Criston said.

“What of the men Sunderland will surely have sent down to investigate the ruckus that happened here?” Lord Desmond asked.

Criston sighed. “What men? The Strength of the Three Sisters is here, Sunderland’s men are now ours. He has at best some 20 men in his castle. We take it now, and we kill him and his grandchildren.”

With that the army snakes its way up the hill towards the Sunderland castle, when the monstrosity comes into sight, Criston feels an old hatred emerge, still he pushed that aside and when they get to the gates he says. “The gates shall open for us soon enough, when the carnage begins I want it known that the man’s granddaughter is to remain alive. She shall be my crowning glory.” The gates opened shortly afterwards, and those men who fought them were put to the sword, Criston sat on his horse and watched as moons of planning came to life right in front of his eyes. _I have avenged you father, you can rest in peace now._ Criston thought as he saw the castle burnt and its possessions torn or stolen, the gold would be plundered the women raped, but that was the way of war.

Eventually Criston found himself sat in the throne of waves, the seat where his ancestor the Lady of Waves had sat when she had raised the three sisters from the ocean bed. Lord Davos Sunderland was brought before him coughing and spluttering, his clothes covered in blood, his eyes hardened though when he saw Criston sat in his throne. “Ah Lord Davos, how nice of you to join us. I trust you know why you are here? As of now, House Sunderland is at an end. Your Grandsons are dead, and your granddaughter will be my wife.”

“You are a traitor my lord. Winterfell will never stand for this, nor shall the gods.” Davos Sunderland replied.

Criston laughed at that. “Ah my lord, you are mistaken if you think that Winterfell will do anything about this. Daeron Stark is too busy grieving over his dead nephew to care about us. Our independence will be secure once the pirates are brought in. Your time is done, as for the gods, there is only one, she is the Lady of the Waves.”

Later on Criston will be stood by the waterside, watching as Lord Davos Sunderland, the last male of House Sunderland, is given to the waves as befitting a man of his age and rank, and if keeping with the old traditions of the islands. Criston says a short prayer and then walks back into the castle, where he walks into the main hall and sits on the throne, and for the first time in a long, long time, Criston Borrell smiles.

* * *

 

**Prince Aegor Stark**

Winterfell it seemed had been in the grips of mourning for so very long, it had become suffocating. After the news of the war had come, Winterfell had respectively mourned the son of the man they had come to view as one of their own, the brother of their king, and then Aegor’s father had returned from war and the mourning had ended on his orders. And yet it seemed to Aegor as if his father had never really followed his own advice. His father spent hours locked away with his council discussing gods alone knows what, most likely another war strategy or how to sit Aegor’s goodbrother Aegon on the throne, something that had caused Aegor many sleepless nights. For whilst he could understand why his father held to his oath to Daemon Blackfyre, the thought of more war and blood really was not something that held huge appeal to Aegor, especially for the cost that this would have for the small folk.

Daeron Stark was spending a lot of time in a state of grief over Aemon Blackfyre, Aegor knew this from the lines around his father’s eyes and the haggard look to his face, the only other time he had seen his father like this was when Aegor’s mother had died, all those years ago. Now though, it seemed as if his father would not come out of this funk he was in, and it worried Aegor greatly. He had spoken with those closest to his father, and they had all said the same thing. His stepmother Dacey, had told him to simply leave his father be, for bringing up Aemon would simply enrage him more, and that would not be good for anyone, his uncle Edwyle had told him to leave his father be and that his father would figure it out by himself, something his uncle Theon had agreed on. Aegor could not understand why they were all so confident that his father would eventually return to the man he had been before the war, as far as Aegor could tell his father was so immersed in his grief and planning his revenge that he did not seem to think on anything else.

That deeply angered Aegor sometimes, for it felt to him as if his father was placing more importance on his dead brother’s family than his own.  Daena had managed to do well for herself she was comforting Aegon to the best of her abilities, whilst their father groomed him for the kingship, Elaena had fallen grievously ill and had to be nursed back to health vigorously not by Maester Tywin but by Aegor’s goodbrother Daemon, something was deeply angered about, and had been so tempted to bring up with his father, but had not done so on his wife’s advice. His wife, gods how his wife had suffered these past few moons, she had been with child shortly after Rhaenrya’s third birthday, and the whole castle had been excited about the possibility of yet another birth, even Aegor’s father had been temporarily brought out of his stupor, but then Delena had given birth to a stillborn, and all had gone quiet, his father, gods damn it, his father had looked disappointed more than anything, that Aegor had never hated him so much, than he had in that moment. Delena had gone into her shell then, not speaking, barely eating and barely doing anything, so much so that she had fallen ill. Aegor had spent as much time as he could with her and the children, and yet his father continued to demand he attend council meetings and court sessions, and Aegor had argued with him about that, saying that he needed to be with Delena to make sure she got better, and his father had said that there was nothing more he could do for her, which had led to Aegor snapping at his father that. “Is that why you left mother to die? You didn’t even come and see her before she gave birth to Elaena.” That had resulted in his father hitting him very, very hard but Aegor would not apologise for saying what he had said, it was what he truly thought.

For whilst he loved his step mother fiercely, she was not his mother, and though she had helped him overcome his grief, there was a part of him that was still deeply resentful of the fact that she was alive whilst his own mother was not. There was also a part of him, that hated his father for moving on so quickly from his mother to Dacey, a part that thought that perhaps his father had never loved his mother, and that she was not remembered by anyone, in a way deserving of the sort of person she was. Daena was too young to remember their mother, and Elaena was the reason why their mother had died, though she was not. Aegor sometimes felt as if he was the only one in the whole of the north who missed his mother, and at times that became too much for him, far too much for him to bear on his own.

Of course he could not very well go off to Dorne to spend some time with his cousins. The minute he did, he would more than likely be taken prisoner and thrown in Ghaston Grey, for though his cousins would remain staunchly loyal to his mother’s memory,  they also had to make sure they were not seen as aiding a traitor which was what Aegor would be in the south. And so he held off meeting his cousins, and let the anger boil inside of him, the resentment, that he could only remove from his system by sparring with people in the training yard, and yet as he was the heir to the kingdom of winter, none would dare harm him, and so he found himself often sparring with his uncle and some of the other warriors of the Winter’s Guard, knowing they would fight him without as much restraint, and as such he found such sparring more useful and a better way to vent his anger and frustration, than drink or any of the other vices that could be open to him as a prince.

Aegor shook his head and brought his mind back to the matters at hand, he was in yet another court session, and he was listening to Hothar Umber the giant Lord of Last Hearth speaking about Wildlings. “They are moving in far greater numbers Your Grace. The crows are not being very efficient in stopping raiding parties from moving over that damned wall. Soon enough they will come further south.”

Aegor watched as his father blinked and then said. “Very well Lord Umber, I shall send some fifty men with you, to aid in defeating this wildlings before they even pass Last Hearth, and I shall send word to Karhold as well, we shall need to deal with these people before they become an infestation. I shall also write to the Lord Commander and ask him to increase patrols if he has not done so already.”

Lord Umber nodded his thanks and then another man stood up. This man was big and broad shouldered, with a mop of grey hair, he looked like a beggar, but Aegor had learnt long ago that appearances could be very, very deceptive. “Your Grace, I am Mors Snow, I am a farmer in the Wolfswood, and I have come to state that there has been some great moving of elk and deer from the wood, due to the presence of animals not seen this side of the wall since before the dragons came.”

There was a lot of murmuring at the man’s words, and then Aegor’s father spoke. “And what sort of animals are these that are roaming the wood my good man?”

The man swallowed and then said. “Direwolves, aurochs, shadow cats and other such creatures Your Grace. They are scaring away or taking all the prey for themselves and leaving me and mine with nothing.”

There was increased murmuring at that, and Aegor briefly looked down at Serron, his own direwolf and saw that Serron’s ears had perked up. Daeron Stark spoke solemnly then. “Very well my good man. I shall send some men into the wood to help you deal with these pests for now. Jory!” The captain of their household guard Jory Poole stepped forward. “I want you to ride with thirty of our best men along with Mors here and see to it that these beasts do not cause any further damage.” Once Jory had nodded, Mors Snow moved away and then court was filled with the voices of the countless nobles who had come to attend and watch. The noise continued until, Aegor’s father spoke once more clear and loud, commanding. “I believe there is one more issue we must discuss today in court. Lord Strickland.”

Lord Luthor Strickland, the exiled goodfather of Daemon Blackfyre, was a hunched man of nearly fifty years, he had a mop of brown hair and seedy black eyes. He had come as an emissary from Aegor’s namesake Bittersteel across the narrow sea, to discuss matters regarding another war, the matters had been discussed to death in council, and as such this setting was merely a show for the court. “Thank you Your Grace. As you know, I have come from Tyrosh as a representative of the Golden Company to ask you when you believe you shall be ready to march for war once more, to seat the rightful king on the throne.”

There was a large amount of murmuring at that, Aegor caught a quick glance at Aegon, and saw that his goodbrother was stood stock still listening intently. The boy had not been included in some of the more heated discussions that had been had on the issue, he was far too compulsive and rash. Aegor’s father was silent and then when he spoke the whole room went deathly silent. “Very well Lord Strickland, I shall give you a straight answer as you have asked me a straight question. As such, following the last war, the north and Iron Islands have been recuperating and are nearly back to our fully strength, the Iron Fleet has been replenished as has the northern fleets in White Harbour and Stony Shore. I say if we give it another, two to three years we should be ready to march once more and this time we will succeed.”

Lord Strickland nodded and then said. “That is very good Your Grace. I know Ser Aegor will be very happy to hear that.”

“Now what of my nephews and nieces in Tyrosh how do they fare? And what of Aerion Targaryen?” Aegor’s father asked, and there was some murmuring there.

Lord Strickland, was silent for a moment and then he replied. “They are all well Your Grace, Princes Haegon, Monterys and Maegon continue to train and fight bravely, and the girls are very well looked after. With regards to Aerion Targaryen, I am sure you know that he wed Shiera Blackfyre, as such they have had a boy whom they have named Aenar. As such Aerion has fought and proved himself worthy of membership of the Golden Company.”

With that court came to an end, and Aegor returned to his chambers, where he found his wife and children sleeping softly. He smiled at the image, he loved them dearly, truly he did, he would do anything for them, to see them safe. Delena, she looked so serene and peaceful whilst she slept, it was as if the pain of the past few moons had not happened. Aegor would do anything to take away her pain, to make it so that their child had lived, to make it so that he could shoulder her pain. Still there was no point dwelling on the past, and when there was a knock on the door, summoning him to his father’s solar, he felt something akin to dread stirring up inside of him. His father said nothing but passed him a letter that bore the seal of House Sunderland, as he read it he felt his stomach drop, once he had finished reading it, his father looked at him and simply said. “You shall ride for White Harbour along with Aegon and three of the Winter’s Guard, for White Harbour, and then you shall sail for Sisterton and deal with Lord Borrell. Lord Manderly has been notified.”


	25. Brightflame

**Aerion Targaryen**

The heat was sweltering, it always was in Tyrosh, much more so than in King’s Landing or in Summerhall, and surprisingly Aerion found that he preferred this heat than what had passed for heat in his old home. It was more fitting he thought, for a dragon, a true dragon not like his younger brothers Aemon and Aegon who were both too cowardly to be true dragons. Tyrosh was where his home was now, and it was where he trained with the men of the Company and where his wife and children were. He found he liked Tyrosh a lot, and he was beginning to think that perhaps it had not been such a bad idea that he had been exiled all those years ago, it had certainly given him a much greater freedom than he had once had as a prince of the throne.

There was no need for decency amongst the men of the company, all who were able to fight were welcomed and were celebrated. That had been shown in their fighting in the Disputed Lands where Aerion  himself had been the one to slay the Magister of Myr to win the lands for Tyrosh, and that had won him praise from the company and from Bittersteel, for his bravery and quick thinking. Such praise he had not had in a long time, and certainly not from his own father. The company had moved on from the Disputed Lands for a time to Volantis to see Bittersteel wed, from there they had then marched on to the Slaver cities where they had fought on the side of Yunkai against Meeren, coming out on top once more, sacking the city and taking enough gold and plunder to last them a thousand life times.

Aerion had found that there was nothing half as pleasing as a good fight, something about it helped calm the madness that was inside of him, it gave him an outlet with which to deal with those thoughts that constantly plagued him, had always plagued him since childhood. And it seemed that his new family understood this better than his old family had, his father, oh gods how he had craved his father’s love and affection when he had been a child. But Prince Maekar was a hard man, a hard man to impress and a hard man to love, Aerion’s father was a war hero, but he held to a code of honour and duty that made it hard for Aerion to live up to expectations, and because Aerion had never been on the right side of the coin, his father had never given him the time of day. Not like he had for Daeron and Aegon. Aegon, his little brother who had humiliated him so, one day he would get him back for the humiliation that lunk of a knight had dealt him.

The Golden Company itself had been welcoming to Aerion, and he had found that a whole new thing in itself, no longer was he viewed with suspicion by the company members, just as he no longer really viewed them with suspicion. His whole life before exile he had been taught that the Blackfyre rebellion had been started because Daemon Blackfyre was a greedy man who had wanted more than was his due, and that those who had sided with him were nothing more than grasping fools who ought to have been put to the sword long ago, that was what Prince Maekar had told him and his brothers long ago.  Living and fighting with the men who served in the company and had fought alongside the Black Dragon had given Aerion a new perspective on them, some were grasping men who had no right for breath, but by and large the men of the company who had come from Westeros, were proud men, men with honour, an honour that was not a scholar’s honour but a soldier’s honour, an honour where no man got left behind, and that was something Aerion could respect and admire.

Of course the company would be nothing without its founder, Ser Aegor Rivers, otherwise known as Bittersteel. The man was like a juggernaut, whose mere presence bred confidence; a man whom others were willing to fight and die for, this was the man who had founded the company and was determined to seat his great nephew Aegon Blackfyre on the Iron Throne. This was the man who had welcomed Aerion into his family with open arms, when no one else would. This was the man, who had become more of a father to Aerion in the past five years than Prince Maekar had ever been for the majority of Aerion’s life. Aerion had found that Ser Aegor, was more accepting of whom Aerion was and what he stood for, and that as such the man encouraged him to pursue activities that would lessen the plague in his mind, and allow him to fulfil his true potential. The man was also always there if Aerion ever felt the need to speak to someone about what was ailing him with regards to his family, and he found that despite all he had been told about the man Aerion was coming to view him as a father figure, and he dreaded the day when Bittersteel no longer led the charge.

Of course Aerion’s relationship with the other Blackfyres had also helped ease the plague in his mind, for years he had yearned for the company of those who were like him, who understood him, his cousins had always been to up their own arses, so snooty with being in line for the throne, and his siblings were terrified of him. The Blackfyres: Haegon, Monterys and Daena had all gone out of their way to make him feel welcome. Haegon matched the descriptions that Aerion had heard of Daemon Blackfyre, he was strong, tall and broad and good with a sword and a mace, he was being groomed to be the next commander general of the company by Bittersteel, there was a certain anger around Monterys the youngest son of the black dragon, a constant feeling as if he was not appreciated, he was a fierce warrior and had prove himself on countless occasions but was never truly looked upon by anyone apart from Aerion. It helped he supposed that he was so deeply in love with their sister Shiera, Shiera who had been the reason why the plague of his mind was not as deep as it had been before Lys. Shiera who loved him and cared for him and put up with all of his changing moods and attitudes and never once flinched away from him in fear. She and their son Aenar were the reason Aerion continued to hold onto sanity and he was always worried something would go wrong.

Still he was sat inside the command tent waiting for Bittersteel to speak, also inside the tent were Ser Haegon Blackfyre, Ser Harrold Strickland and Ser Aubrey Ambrose, Aerion wondered what the issue could be that had made Bittersteel summon them all from their respective tents, the expression on his face was most serious, and for a moment Aerion worried what the words would be that he spoke. Eventually once the silence had stretched on for what seemed an age Bittersteel spoke, his voice tired sounding. “There has been word from the Three Sisters. The rebellion there was crushed, Lord Strickland writes that the Houses Borrell and Longthorpe were put to the sword, and that their lords were flayed and then executed. Daeron Stark has betrothed his son Prince Jorah to Lord Davos Sunderland’s granddaughter Lanna, and has named him Prince of the Three Sisters.”

There was some silence and then Ser Harrold Strickland spoke, his voice anxious sounding. “That is good news ser, but what of my father? How has he fared?”

Bittersteel was silent for a moment before he spoke once more. “Your father is well Harrold, he did not take part in the fighting but instead watched from atop his horse guarded by men loyal to Winterfell whilst the rebels were put down and crushed. For now the north is safe and secure. But that is not the only reason why I have called you here. There has been word from our sources in King’s Landing; the pretender on the throne has become aware of our two prisoners here and means to get them back.”

Ser Haegon spoke then his voice as commanding as his uncle’s “We cannot allow whatever men the pretender sends to reach Tyrosh my lords. Not now that we hold two of the most valuable women in Westeros.”

Ser Harrold Strickland voiced his agreement. “Aye sers, we must double the guard on them both and make sure that no information of the men coming here reaches the ears of those guarding them, we cannot trust those who guard them to hold their tongues.”

Ser Aubrey Ambrose spoke then and his voice was very, very quiet as it often was. “You assume that we have not taken such procedures already Ser Harrold. The men on guard of the two prisoners are men whose loyalty is not in question. Besides it would not be hard to guess whom the pretender will send to get the prisoners out.”

At that Haegon spoke up once more. “Why? Who do you think the pretender will send uncle?”

Bittersteel spoke then. “I believe he will send Lord Addam Osgrey, the man was lax during the last war in letting those reacherlords flee and join us, and the throne will not have forgiven him for the delay in answering Garth Tyrell’s summons either. Osgrey shall be sent as well as Derryck Reyne in order to prove House Reyne’s loyalty to the throne, after all Robb Reyne still resides in the black cells. As Ser Aubrey has said, we already have placed men to guard the prisoners whose loyalty is true and cannot be questioned but regardless of that we may soon have another guest as well. A red priest from Asshai shall soon be joining us.”

This was when Aerion spoke, he had met a few of these red priests before and he had never liked them, something about them unnerved him. “Why would a priest be coming here Ser? What good would he do?”

Bittersteel’s face is grim when he replies. “If all else fails we shall need to feed the two women to the flames, they have royal blood, king’s blood and only king’s blood will feed the flames of the gods.” There is a long silence and then, Bittersteel dismisses them all from the tent apart from Aerion and Haegon. To Haegon he says. “Keep an eye on Strickland Haegon, the boy is not his father and his will is weak, he might betray us before anyone else does. Keep an eye on him, and kill him if need be.” Haegon nods and then Bittersteel turns and speaks to Aerion. “Keep your wife and child close to you at all times my prince. These red priests will be obsessing over king’s blood for hours, I will give you guards but keep your sword drawn at all times and make sure not to leave Shiera and Aenar’s presence for longer than absolutely necessary.”

Aerion nodded and felt the familiar fear beginning to grow inside of him; his voice shook slightly when he asked. “You think the priest would go for them as well?”

“Aye my prince. These priests have a hunger about them that the fire fuels. Keep them safe and away from the priest’s eyes and you shall all be the better for it.” Bittersteel replies and with that, Aerion and Haegon are dismissed from the commander’s tent.

Aerion walks back to his own tent where Shiera sits waiting for him, the sight of her takes his breath away, she looks beautiful to him, dressed in black and silver, with her silver hair tied back in a braid her lips full. Their son Aenar sleeps in the crib next to their bed, sleeping peacefully, she gets up when she sees him and kisses him on the lips. “How did the meeting with my uncle go?” she asks.

Aerion hums against her and then breaks of their kiss and says. “It went okay, but there are people coming from Westeros to try and free out prisoners. Furthermore Ser Aegor has seen fit to ask a red priest to come and preside over something or the other. We shall not be leaving the tent for a while, the priest might have a look at us in a more than favourable light as well.”

Shiera tenses under his hold and then whispers. “I knew it.”

Aerion looks down at her and is surprised to see tears in his wife’s eyes. “What is wrong my love?”

“I had a dream of flames when I was younger, a priest and you, you were there and our children where there, and the flames engulfed us all before you could save us.” Sheira replies her voice breaking.

Aerion holds her tighter then and says. “I won’t let anything happen to you my love nor to Aenar, I’ll die before I let something like that happen.”

Shiera sobs into his chest and says. “I’m not sure you will be able to, for the priest coming is old beyond reason, I saw it in my dreams. She’s old and her name is one that the songs speak of.”

* * *

 

**Aegon ‘Egg’ Targaryen**

King’s Landing was swelteringly hot, the sweat was dripping off of Aegon’s head visibly, his clothes felt hot and stuffy, and stuck rather uncomfortably to his body. Court was in session and his father was once more sat in the Iron Throne whilst King Aerys was off reading about some book or the other. Aegon did not know how his father could stand to sit in the throne with all its edges and barbs and listen to people drone on and on about their problems, in this heat, Aegon knew that if it were him there was no chance in hell that he’d be able to do it and keep a cool head.

As he watched his father met out advice and justice to those who presented themselves in court, he found himself thinking back to the way he had viewed both his father and his uncle as child. He had lived in awe and some fear of his father, Prince Maekar was a war hero, the man who had won Redgrass Field and saved the Targaryen Dynasty from complete collapse. That reputation had made his father into some god like figure in Aegon’s mind, something that did seriously make him tongue tied a lot of the time around him, it also made him slightly scared of his father, for whilst Prince Maekar could be loving and caring, he was also a hard man who expected nothing but the best from his children, and when they did not live up to that, the disappointment in his eyes was more than any reprimand that Aegon or any of his siblings could bear, that had especially been the case when he had helped Dunk allow the Blackfyre boy to escape all those years ago. Aegon did not regret doing what he had done, and would do the same thing now if presented with the choice, but still the shame and hurt that had caused his father had nearly been too much for Aegon to bear.

King Aerys though, had been someone Aegon had looked up for his knowledge and learning, and for the fact that he was a very kind man, and openly caring. He had been Aegon’s favourite uncle, always there for a story or some adventure for Aegon and his siblings when they had been younger, and then he had become king and fallen under Bloodraven’s influence and something had changed within him. He was no longer the kind and caring man Aegon remembered from his childhood, instead he became withdrawn and solemn, rarely speaking or venturing from his rooms, and allowing the sorcerer Bloodraven to do his work for him. No Aegon no longer held his uncle in the same regard as he had done in the past as a child, instead he felt vaguely sorry for him and the weight of the burden on his shoulders which he had now shifted to Aegon’s father.

His father was the hand of the king, and was effectively the power behind the throne, he was the power in the realm now, divided as it was. Aegon had seen the strain the responsibility was having on him, his eyes had bags underneath them and his voice was often hoarse from hours of talking and meetings. His temper was shorter than it had been during the years where he had not been hand, and there was a greater sense of fear surrounding him. The nobles of the court, and the lords of Westeros respected and feared him in equal measure, and Aegon suspected that was part of the reason why there had not yet been another uprising, for they knew that Aegon’s father would come crashing down on them with a fist of iron and fire and blood.

As the court session began to drag on, Aegon found his thoughts drifting off towards Rhae.  They had been married for a year now, and in that time he had gotten to know his sister much better. When he had last been in Summerhall before his exile, Rhae had been a ball of energy, rushing around in breeches with a sword constantly at her hip, be it wooden or steel, Aegon often wondered how their father had allowed her to get away with that. Of course she had never actually had to use the steel sword, barely knew how to lift it, and Aegon prayed she never would have to. Still, he had a hard time placing that girl with the woman who was now his wife, she had gone from being that little ball of fire into a woman with a fiery passionate side and with the same courtly manners as their sister Daella had, it was something to behold, and Aegon knew their mother would have been proud of her where she still alive.

Rhae, it turned out was quite a good listener, and she was fast becoming Aegon’s everything, it was a strange and slightly worrying thing for him. He had spent so much of his life on the road with Dunk, not truly having to talk much about his feelings or any of that other nonsense, and yet now here he was discussing everything that came to his mind, and not having to worry that she would think less of him for what they spoke of. Rhae to had her fare share of worries, she had to help play mother to their niece, Daeron’s daughter Alysanne who’s own mother did not seem all that interested in her, Daeron himself spent much of his time drinking and so Rhae had taken it upon herself to raise the girl, and she was doing a very good job. Aegon knew he was beginning to fall for her, and yet some part of him was still hesitant about allowing the full depth of his feelings to be explored in case Rhae did not feel the same way.

Aegon was brought back to reality when he heard the herald announcing the end of the court session. He stood up and helped Rhae stand up as well, and then began moving towards the doors, Rhae spoke then her voice sounding tired. “I thought it would never end. Gods I hope father tells Lord Lefford to keep the Golden Tooth sealed off for a long time.”

Aegon laughed softly and said. “Aye, that would teach him.”

Rhae nudged him then and said. “You weren’t paying attention were you Egg? Gods above what do you do, during these sessions?”

Egg chuckled abashed and said. “Think about how beautiful you are.” He shut his mouth then worried he had said to much.

Rhae blushed then and said. “Well, still you need to listen, father wants you to listen in during these sessions otherwise he wouldn’t ask that you attend them. He’ll ask you, your opinion on these matters.”

Aegon sighed then and then said. “Well then Rhae, would you care to fill me in on what was discussed?”

Rhae sighed as well and as they began walking towards the Tower of the Hand, she whispered. “Lord Lefford has complained that bandits from the Riverlands are raiding the gold mines along the border of the two kingdoms that fall under his domain, and he accused Lord Brynden Tully of giving his blessing to the raiding. Lord Tully has vehemently denied the accusations and says that Lefford is merely trying to find a scapegoat. The matter has been going on and on for some time now, and so much so that Lord Lannister brought the issue before father, and now father will have to discuss the matter with the council.”

Aegon sighed at that, and said. “Gods the Lannisters and their bannermen will never let this go now, not now their precious gold is on the line.”

Rhae nodded and then went on. “There is also the issue of the bandits raiding the coast in the Riverlands close to the crownlands as well. Many of the smallfolk are fleeing south to King’s Landing to try and get away from the bandits, father is struggling to find places to keep them all.”

Aegon nodded and then said. “This bandits, is it know where they have come from?”

Rhae shook her head and said. “No Egg, no one knows and father knows not what to do. He can’t turn the people away without driving them into the arms of the rebels who would threaten us, but he can’t keep accepting more people in.”

“Perhaps a force should be sent to deal with these bandits then, to show the people that such things will not be tolerated.” Aegon said contemplatively.

“Well whatever you think father will be sure to ask you tomorrow when the council meets.” Rhae said, and then they entered their chambers and everything else was forgotten for the time being.

Sure enough Aegon’s father did eventually get round to ask him his thoughts on the matters that needed to be discussed, it was not at the council meeting that was held the day after court, but a few days after that. His father seemed so very tired as Aegon entered his rooms in the Tower of the Hand, the candle was burning low, and there was an empty cup of water near his father’s left hand. “Ah Aegon sit down, there is much we must discuss.” Aegon sat down then and his father spoke next his voice sounded very, very tired. “Now tell me, you have heard both sides of the argument, what do you think the throne should do with regards to the issue between Lords Lefford and Tully?”

Aegon was silent for a moment and then said. “Well, both lords believe the other is responsible for the gold disappearing from the mines around the Golden Tooth, yet neither will back down from their stance. And yet none of the supposed bandits have been found, and neither Lefford nor Tully have made a truly proper effort to find these bandits. In that case, I would suggest that both lords send men to actually properly look for the bandits in the places close to where their lands intersect and see whether or not there have been any shady characters round the border as of late and work from there.”

His father nodded and then said. “And what would you do if either lords or one of them were to complain that the throne was not doing anything to help them?”

Aegon considered for a moment and then said. “I would tell them that, if they want the throne to help them, they first need to help themselves. They cannot expect the King to pass judgement when the full picture has not been given to him. For that would be poor judgement and could set a dangerous precedent.”

Aegon felt himself flush with pride at the nod his father gave him, something that was strengthened when Prince Maekar spoke. “Good that is exactly what I am doing. Now what about this issue with regards to the bandits in the Riverlands? What would you do there?”

Aegon pondered the issue and then spoke. “I believe letters must be sent to Lords Lothston and Darry as well as Goodbrook and Shawney and have them look into matter much further before the throne gets involved with the matter. These bandits could be simply men sent by some of the lords wishing to cause trouble and if so then they must be found and questioned.”

Prince Maekar nodded and said. “Very good. Now there is one more matter that needs to be discussed.”

Aegon looked at his father then and asked. “Oh?”

Prince Maekar sighed then and said. “Yes, my cousin Elaena shall be meeting with you along with her son to discuss matters regarding the Bolton Rebellion and other such things tomorrow. I cannot meet her as I need to discuss other things with the council.”

Aegon nodded though he felt the trepidation begin to creep in, Elaena Targaryen was a proud and smart woman who was as cunning as she was smart, and the Bolton Rebellion had seen her family ripped apart inch by inch. He dreaded what things she would mention to him before she was done.

The next day proved his fears correct, Elaena Targaryen entered the chamber he had been given in the Tower of the Hand, and with her walked her grandson Ser Cregan Longwaters, both had looks of pure tiredness and loathing on their faces and yet when they say down, Aegon expected that Elaena would speak but instead it was Longwaters who spoke. “My Prince, you know why we are here. I know your father is busy with the council, but we have come here to demand justice for the unfair murder of my father all those years ago during the Bolton Rebellion, which was instigated by the traitor Brynden Rivers.”

Aegon sighed, at least the lad had gotten straight to the point. “Very well Ser. Your father died doing his duty to his king, he volunteered to do lead the armies that assailed Moat Cailin and he accepted Edwyle Stark’s challenge to single combat when he could have refused it. As far as I can see he was not murdered.”

Longwaters bristled at that and said. “He did what he had to do, because that bastard kinslayer, kept myself and my aunt and mother and grandmother hostages and threatened to have us killed unless my father did what he was bid to do. He never would have led to the attack voluntarily. The kinslayer’s threats left me without a father, and broke my mother’s heart, she killed herself because of that action.”

Aegon sighed. “What would you have me do Ser? Bloodraven is dead, and has been for three years now. Edwyle Stark was fighting to defend his home, and bringing him here will bring more war down upon us. I do not see what justice I can offer you?”

Elaena Targaryen (Aegon could not remember for the life of him who she was wed to now) spoke then her voice calm. “Well you could start by removing that slander that Bloodraven wrote about my son, labelling him a traitor for not fighting in the first Blackfyre War. I know there is a document in the vaults of the council’s archives with those words on it, have it rescinded and that should be a good start. As for what else you could do, protect your wife and soon to be born child my prince, do not let the follies of our family hurt you anymore than they have to.”

“Is that a threat my lady?” Aegon asked finding his patience being tested and wondering how she knew Rhae was with child, the news was not official yet.

Elaena Targaryen merely smiled and said. “Certain things are best left unsaid my prince.”


	26. Whiskey River

**King Daeron Stark**

His dreams were plagued by visions of the battle that had ended in defeat once more. He always saw his nephew’s life be snapped away from him, the kinslayer’s sword thrust through him, the vision often changed to the day when his world had changed forever. The day he had learnt of Daemon’s death and his crowning as King of the North. It seemed as if it happened just the other day, there were times when he half expected to turn a corner and see Daemon or Aemon standing there joking with either Daeron himself or Aegor, but no there was nobody there usually, and Daeron often felt mad after such things.

The grief was overpowering sometimes, the guilt even more so, if only he had taken the time to think through the kinslayer’s plans when they had all been at Riverrun, perhaps Aemon would now sit the throne and all would be well with the world. But no, his arrogance had gotten the better of him, he had thought that he had played the kinslayer, and now Aemon was rotting in the ground in Winterfell whilst the Targaryens continued to sit the throne that did not rightfully belong to them. It was becoming too much for Daeron, each day since the war had ended he would wake up with the bone crushing grief and guilt, and it would only intensify when he saw either Barbrey or his nephew Aegon, he was responsible for Aemon’s death no one else but he, and it was torture.

Dacey though, she had helped him pull through this, just as she had when Arianne had died, she stood beside through all the anger and the grief, and was always there to lend a helping hand when it all became too much, behind closed doors, he was still the king after all. He knew now that he had not always been the best of husbands or even fathers, he had allowed his grief to consume him, and he had not paid the slightest bit of attention to his family other than for the most important of matters. He felt guilty about that, and yet Dacey remained steadfast behind him in her support and her love. He knew not what he would do without her.

When word had come that the houses Borrell and Longthorpe were in open rebellion against House Sunderland, Daeron had leapt at the chance to take his mind away from the doubts that haunted him still. He knew that he could not go himself, not this time the matter was not big enough for the King of the North and the Iron Islands to venture forth from Winterfell, but Aegor had gone. At twenty and four it was far past time that Aegor learnt what it meant to fight in proper battle, and so Daeron had written to Lord Manderly and instructed him to call his banners, whilst Aegor would march with men from Winterfell, using the northern fleet they had sailed for the Three Sisters.

According to the reports that Daeron received back from both his uncle Beron and Rickard Karstark of the Winter’s Guard, Aegor conducted himself in a manner befitting a prince of winter, and led the men superbly. So much so that the men at the feast held to celebrate their victory just could not stop singing his son’s praises, Aegor had blushed during the feast, but Daeron had felt a sense of pride in his son, his son who had become a man when he was not looking. He knew he needed to make amends with his son, for the distance he had unintentionally put between them during his mourning, but he knew not how to do so.

The Aegor he saw today was so different from the Aegor he had known when his son had been a child. As a child, Aegor could be soothed with soft words and a gentle reminder of who he was, and how he should act, the Aegor of today was a man grown with a family of his own, with a straight set of values and morals, and with his own principles as well. There was one thing Daeron knew about his son though, he would make a very, very good king when his time came, and for that Daeron was glad.

Still, the matter of the future wars that would be waged, that Daeron would have to wage until his great nephew sat the throne or one of his great nephew’s descendants sat the throne, took up much of Daeron’s time. When he was neither with council nor spending time with his family, he was cooped up in his solar going over everything he knew about the Targaryen regime as it was under his friend Prince Maekar, he spent hours looking over the strengths and weaknesses of the regime, and how he could use both to his advantage.

He looked to see which lords in the southern kingdom had had their loyalty in the Targaryens shaking, and he found that there would be some very useful allies in the conflicts to come. House Frey, Smallwood, Shawney and Butterwell all in the Riverlands would be useful allies to have, in the Westerlands House Reyne remained a staunch supporter of the Black Dragon and yet they dare not act whilst Lord Robb remained in the black cells. There were other houses, hidden in the shadows waiting and watching for the opportune moment, when that moment came, Daeron knew they would be able to seize the advantage.

As he heard the shouts of children coming from the courtyard outside, Daeron smiled slightly. He knew that his children thought him distant, perhaps he was a bit distant, but he was still so very, very proud in all of them. Aegor who was an heir any lord would be proud of, Daena so fierce just like her namesake who was a proud princess, Elaena with her rare gift and how she carried the burden it placed on her so well, Jorah and Brandon those two boys would make fine soldiers one day Daeron knew, Jorah was betrothed to Lord Davos Sunderland’s granddaughter and when he came of age would become Prince of the Three Sisters. And then there was Lyanna and Beron the younger two of his children both of whom were handfuls, but provided countless hours of delight both for Daeron, his wife and the people of Winterfell. There was also of course the new addition to their family, their ever growing collection of wolf pups, Dacey had given birth three moons past to a baby boy whom they had named Jonnel, Jonnel had a large tuft of brown hair and his mother’s brown eyes, and he was one of the most beautiful children Daeron had ever seen. After the birth Maester Tywin had pulled Daeron aside and told him that Dacey would not be able to bear anymore children after Jonnel’s birth, something during the birth had made that happen, and as such Daeron was not willing to lose his wife and so he agreed to leave his wife’s chambers empty of his presence for a while until she was ready.

There was a knock on the door that took Daeron away from the window and back into his chair, before he called for whoever it was to enter. In came the council, High Steward Edwyle Stark, master of coin Lord Jonnel Manderly, High Shadow Lord Ethan Glover, Admiral of the narrow sea and master of ships Lord Beron Stark, Grand Maester Tywin and of course Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard Theon Stark, Daeron’s own brother. Daeron nodded at the men and bid them sit, the chairs had already been put in place for them. Daeron spoke first as was his custom. “My lords I thank you for coming today. We have much to discuss, I would hear the most pressing issue first.”

Edwyle spoke first, his voice serious as it always was. “The Night’s Watch has written to report that there has been a growing presence of Wildlings close to the wall, Lord Commander Storm is not certain whether or not the wildlings mean to invade or whether they are simply gathering for some sort of festival. He writes that if the Wildlings do mean to invade, he is not confident that the Watch can repel them on its own, and requests reassurances that Your Grace will aid the watch should the wildlings cross over in any great number.”

Daeron nods at that, the Night’s Watch and the Wall are all important concerns in the north, especially at Winterfell, Daeron was raised to believe that there is honour in serving the Watch, he was also taught that when a request for aid came from Castle Black it was his duty as the Stark in Winterfell to respond to it, something he has passed onto all of his children and siblings. He is silent for a moment and then says. “Very well, write to Lord Commander Storm and tell him that at the first sight of a wildling raiding part of any considerable size he should write to Winterfell, and we shall muster and march. I want word sent to Lord Hothar Umber; tell him to be ready as well.” Edwyle nods and Daeron goes on. “What else is there for us to discuss my lords?”

Lord Manderly speaks next, and his voice seems hesitant. “There is one thing Your Grace. The Sealord of Bravos has written to me to express his most sincere apologies about the cutting off of trade with Winterfell. He writes that the Iron Bank is pressuring and threatening him with possible death and certain replacement if he continues to allow trade with us. He believes that the Targaryens are responsible for this.”

There is a fair bit of murmuring at this and Daeron is silent for a moment contemplating what Lord Jonnel Manderly has just said, _so Maekar has decided to play dirty now has he? Very well my friend two can play at that game._ “Very well, write to the Sealord and tell him that I accept and understand the reasons for why trade with Bravos has had to be stopped. I want you to begin research into finding out how much it would cost to set up our own bank, it is time we stopped relying on foreigners if we wished for a loan.” Lord Manderly nods and then Daeron says. “Lord Beron, I want you to sail to Tyrosh, and speak with the Archon there, and tell him the time has come for him to move.” The words were cryptic but his uncle understood them all the same.

One more issue was needed to be discussed in council today, and of course Grand Maester Tywin was the one to bring it up. “Your Grace I do not mean to be a pest, but I must ask what you mean to do with Daemon Blackfyre. Do you mean to keep him here or do you wish for him to go to the citadel to learn the true arts of healing?”

Daeron sighed, this had been an ever pressing matter for some time, ever since his nephew had come to Winterfell from the south, he had expressed a desire to become a maester. Of course had things been different Daeron would have fully agreed to allow his nephew to pursue his passion, as it was though if Daemon went south he was like to be captured and then executed, and that was something Daeron could not allow, hence his nephew had spent the past seven years here in Winterfell, slowly becoming a maester in all but name. “I believe Daemon should remain here for the time being. What with the potential threat of a wildling raid, I do not wish to run the risk of him being killed before he knows how to defend himself properly. He is not causing anybody any trouble here, and to send him to Oldtown would be akin to suicide.” There was a general murmur of consensus before they were all dismissed, though Daeron did ask Theon to go and get Aegor. His son had been spending more time with his wife as of late than in the council sessions, and Daeron was beginning to get concerned, he needed to know that everything was alright.

When his son entered the room he looked tired and haggard, as if he had not slept for some time. His voice sounded hoarse when he spoke. “You asked for me father?”

His son’s direwolf was slumped at his feet, panting softly. “Are you well son? You have not been coming to the council sessions for the past few moons, and have been spending much more time with Delena than with your children.” It was true, Daeron had seen Elaena and Daena spending more time playing with little Rhaenrya and Maege than Aegor had.

His son sighed and his direwolf whined. “I did not mean to father, I promise you. It is only that, Delena is not well, she has been having pains ever since the miscarriage and I know not what to do about it Maester Tywin simply says that the pains will pass, but I am not convinced.”

Daeron looks at his son and sees the worry on his face, soothingly he says. “Maester Tywin has been serving our family since I was a lad son, he knows what he’s talking about. It is best that you put your trust in him, rather than pointlessly worrying over something out of your control.”

His son nods and bows and then heads to the door, but before he leaves Aegor turns to him and says. “You might do well to listen your own advice father."

-

* * *

 

**Lord Rodrick Greyjoy**

Five years had passed since he had become Lord of the Iron Islands, the second most powerful man in the kingdom of the north and the Iron Islands. It had been a long hard road to help his people recover after the events of the second Blackfyre war. The Lannisters had done much damage to his lands and those of his people, but with help from Winterfell and from the bounty they had taken during their raiding, they had managed to pay for the repairs and as such the islands were brimming with life once more. The islands had prospered so far during these few years of peace since the war had ended, and Rodrick felt happy and content for once.

He knew he had a lot to live up to, as the son of Dagon Greyjoy and the grandson of the legendary Quellon Greyjoy, he had always felt the weight of expectation on his shoulders, never more so than when he was sat holding court and he could feel all the eyes in the room looking at him and seeing whether he was a worthy successor to his father and grandfather. As of now he felt that he had done a good job as a lord, a lord in peacetime, something that was often quite difficult for Ironborn men to do, his father had been known to say. He had helped bring trade back to the Islands, and had filled the coffers with gold a plenty.

He found his thoughts wandering towards the activities of the Iron Fleet in the years following the ending of the second Blackfyre war, With there being no continent wide war for them to be used in, King Daeron Stark had given Rodrick permission to do what he wished with the fleet. With this in mind Rodrick had decided to go for some exploring, he had taken the fleet trading to places such as Ibben and Asshai beyond the shadow. Places that were just as exotic and beautiful as the tales he had heard as a child. He had also used the fleet to crush a minor rebellion in the Summer Islands, sacking the towns around the coast and killing the leader of the rebels in single combat himself, thus proving he could be as ruthless as his father.

Lord Derrick Botley, a young and ambitious man had gotten some foolish ideas into his head about perhaps being deserving of wedding Rodrick’s sister Asha, and had attempted to abscond with her. His sister had not been willing to go at all, and when Rodrick had found out about it all, he had been most angry, Botley now hung from the crow cage from the top of Nagga’s hill, and was burned with the morning sun and flayed in the light of the moon.  House Botley now faced potential eradication as well, for Derrick’s brothers were deeply angered by what Rodrick had done, though they dare not rebel openly, no in fact they had decided to use secrecy to try and get other lords to rebel against Pyke. So far they were failing miserably, still Rodrick kept one eye on them to make sure they did nothing rash.

The other eye he kept on his own family. His first born son and heir Harren had just wed Alannys Harlaw, and his good daughter had just given birth to twins, a boy they had named Daeron and a girl they had named Dacey in honour of the King and Queen. Whilst his first born was enjoying being a father and all that came with it, his second and third sons Balon and Euron were both plotting something of their own, something that was making Rodrick very uncomfortable, both boys had always been too clever by half Euron more so, Balon would need to be sent north to the Wall soon enough. As for his siblings, that was where his true headache lay. His brother Victarion was dead, killed by pirates of the coast of the Stepstones, his brother Theon was brooding somewhere on Pyke itself, where Rodrick knew not. His sisters Asha and Jeyne remained on Pyke no one seemed interested in their hand and that was beginning to grate on Rodrick. His other sister Bethany and his brother Daemon had both been killed during the fighting in the Three Sisters by those scum on the sheep shit filled islands. They had been avenged but still the anger burned in Rodrick.

He had been tempted to sail for the Three Sisters when news had reached him, but his uncles Harras and Maron had advised against that, stating that such a move would be costly and that the war would be over by the time the fleet go to the islands. Besides, as it had later turned out, Aegor Stark heir to the northern kingdom had won the war and crushed the rebellion, putting the rebels to the sword. And Prince Jorah Stark was now Prince of the Three Sisters what with his betrothal to Lord Davos Sunderland’s granddaughter. Thus making him the most powerful vassal house to Winterfell as well as the King’s own son.

That fact continued to grate on Rodrick’s nerves, that a boy no older than his cousin Berrick could be the most powerful vassal lord to his uncle, and be his son as well. A certain case could be made that Pyke’s pleas would not be taken as seriously now, especially with how withdrawn his uncle had supposedly become as of late following Aemon Blackfyre’s death. Very worrying, he had sent his uncle Harras off to Winterfell to meet with the King himself, and to see whether his uncle was still fit for ruling, or if not perhaps the time would come to break off and be independent. Just in the days of Harren the Black, he wondered often how much wrath they would face from Winterfell, if his uncle was too busy with the dragons and their wars.

It was this reasoning that had led to him calling a meeting with his most trusted advisors, with his uncle Harras still in the north heading towards Winterfell, those that came to his solar included his wife Elaena, his uncles Maron and Dorros and maester Theodore. All knew what he had been thinking for some time, and each had been called here to make their own views made clear before all. Rodrick spoke first. “I thank you all for coming, you know why we meet today. To discuss amongst other things Winterfell and the King, and whether we can sustain ourselves as an independent kingdom.”

His uncle Dorros spoke first as was his custom. “I believe we can my lord. Stark has not looked toward this side of his kingdom in sometime, he is too busy fighting over that damnable Iron chair to care a whit about us. The time is right I say, we have ships and we have strength and gold.”

His uncle Maron however, took a much more cautious approach. “I do not think that a wise thing to do my lord. We have prospered under the leadership of Daeron Stark and Winterfell, the Winter Dragon has allowed us to continue our raiding and pillaging in the lands that do not cross his. Our coffers have never been so full. It would be foolish to break away now, and would only result in thousands of pointless deaths.”

It seemed his wife was in agreement with what uncle Maron had said. “Whilst I would usually agree with your views on most issues my lord, I must disagree on this point and agree with Lord Maron. We have prospered as a people under the guidance and leadership of King Daeron Stark. Never before have the Ironborn been so feared and respected. Besides, do we truly wish to wake the Winter Dragon from his slumber; he will be looking for someone to hurt with Aemon Blackfyre dead, we do not want to be arrow fodder for him.”

Rodrick was silent for a long moment considering what had been said, whilst he knew that it was his pride and the values his father had instilled in him that wished for the Ironborn to be completely free, he also saw the sense in what both his wife and uncle had said. There was no point in warring needlessly if it could be avoided, and Winterfell had been kind to the Ironborn for some time now, there was no need to repay that kindness with treachery.  Sighing, Rodrick spoke then. “Very well, Maester Theodore send word to my uncle Harras, tell him that his mission is at an end, I want him to come home. I shall head to Winterfell myself to meet with mine own nuncle.”

The maester seemed nervous all of a sudden and Rodrick began to feel a flutter in his stomach. “Very well then my lord. But before I leave there is something you must know. The maester on Orkmont has writ me to inform me that Botley’s brothers are being feasted in Lord Tawney’s hall and it seems as if that they might sway him to their side.”

Rodrick felt his insides tighten then. If Tawney joined the Botley brothers Orkmont would belong to them, and then there could be war. Keeping his voice as calm as possible Rodrick replied. “Very well tell the maester to keep an ear out for what they discuss, and if he hears anything noteworthy, he is to report it to you, and then we shall take it from there.”

With that he dismisses the maester and his two uncles, leaving just himself and his wife. Elaena comes and sits in his lap, and begins playing with his curls. She asks curiously. “What do you intend to do with the Botley brothers my love?”

Rodrick is silent for a long moment and then he eventually says. “If Tawney joins them it will mean war, a war they will not win. But I will kill them all, if they join forces, if they do not I will have them arrested and then tried for treason.”

“A good plan my love.” Elaena says as she begins kissing him. In between kisses she asks. “Were you truly serious about breaking away from Winterfell my love?”

Rodrick sighs against his wife’s mouth and says. “No my love, not at all. I merely needed to see what way Dorros would go. I do not trust the man, but still it was an appealing option.”

They make love that night, and a few weeks later word comes from Orkmont, and the Botley brothers and Lord Tawney are arrested for treason, and are hanged two days after that. The Iron Islands are once again shown that Lord Rodrick Greyjoy is no push over, when his uncle Harras returns from the north, he brings with him the tale that the northern lords are still fiercely loyal to the Winter Dragon and that the man himself seems in much better spirits. Ready for a fight should the need arise. Rodrick is glad that he decided against breaking away if that is the case, he is a good warrior but he is nowhere near the warrior or Commander Daeron Stark is. No one in Westeros is, no one comes even close to matching him.

He sets sail for the Stony Shore some two moons after another grandson is born to him, this time named Vickon, he greets Steffon Cassel Lord of Stony Shore as if they are old friends, and spends sometime in the port town being feasted and entertained. He beds a woman he has not seen in years during his stay, her brown hair and violet eyes enchanting him just as they did when he was a lad. He arrives in Winterfell some three weeks after that, on a blisteringly hot summer day, where his clothes stick to his sweat covered skin. He is greeted in the courtyard by his uncle Daeron Stark, King of the North and Iron Islands the Winter Dragon, his uncle has lines on his face but still seems strong and composed. His grip is like iron as is his voice when he greets Rodrick. “Ah Lord Greyjoy it has been far too long, welcome to Winterfell.”


	27. There's A Storm A Brewin'

**Prince Maekar Targaryen**

Gods he hated King’s Landing, the whole city truly was just a nest of vipers, he had come to appreciate the simplicities of life whilst at Summerhall. Summerhall truly was the only place in these blasted kingdoms that Maekar Targaryen the hand of the king could get any peace and quiet, otherwise he constantly had to worry about politics and who was plotting what. He had last been to Summerhall some two moons ago for a short trip admittedly, but he still found it fulfilling and relaxing. He had managed to spend some time with his wife and children, his wife Naerys held the fort down admirably without him there, and she seemed to be going much better than she had when he had last seen her before. Daeron of course though was still a large disappointment for Maekar; his eldest son had always been plagued by dreams and visions like many in their family, but had never truly allowed the visions to affect him. Now though, something had set him off and he would always be in his cups or in a brothel, it was deeply embarrassing and worrying for Maekar.

He had tried everything he could think of to get Daeron away from the brink that he was so often standing on, and yet nothing was working. He had tried cutting his son off from the family, in the hopes that such a thing would shock him back into real life and away from the drink he loved so much, that had not worked and his son had been found passed out in a gutter somewhere near Storm’s End with no recollection of how he had gotten there. Next Maekar had sat his son down and spoken with him, harsh words were spoken by both parties and yet still his son drank and drank, and Maekar could see no way out to avoid his son’s more than apparent death. That was why he had begun speaking to Lord Baratheon about perhaps wedding his son to the man’s daughter, perhaps having someone else to care for other than himself would sober his son up. It was a forlorn hope but it was the only hope he had.

Thinking about Daeron made him in turn think of Aerion. His second eldest son who was now serving the enemy, was wed to one of the Blackfyres and had two children with the woman. The news still shocked and hurt him all these years later that had been one of the reasons why Aerys had prevented him from fighting at the Bleeding Water, fear of what he would do if he knew the truth about his son. Aerion, his boy had been an angry child growing up with more than just a hint of madness in him, but he would have made a good Prince of Summerhall had Maekar perhaps been more patient and willing to listen. Instead he had sent his son to Lys in exile, hoping that being without his lickspittles and other toadies would teach him some humility, instead his son had been driven into the arms of the Blackfyres and Bittersteel. He dreaded the day he would have to face his son in battle.

Aemon was a maester, sworn to serve some lordling in the Riverlands, and still refusing to accept a place at court. His third son was a proud man that much Maekar knew, he was smart as well, something that Maekar felt was lacking in the current grand maester, the man was a weakling and fool. Still his son stubbornly held onto his belief that he was not meant to be at King’s Landing, his fear that he would usurp the rightful place of the Grand Maester. A belief that echoed so strongly of Maekar’s own father that sometimes it stung hard whenever he thought about it.

Aegon was truly the only son left to him who he could mould into a worthy heir. His son’s time with Ser Duncan the Tall had done him wonders, he did not have the false airs that many of their station often had, he was loved by the smallfolk and was a very good swordsman and warrior in general. In fact to Maekar it seemed as if his son was Baelor Breakspear reborn, something that he was both proud and worried about, for he remembered how Baelor had met his end, and he was beginning to believe that perhaps Aegon might meet a similar end should Aerion ever fight. Of course that was all in the future, for now though Maekar knew he should be content with the fact that his son and his daughter were happily wed to each other and their first born son, a boy whom they had named Duncan in honour of Aegon’s old mentor, was healthy. That was good as was the news that Rhae was with child once more, the succession should soon be secured.

The only proper headache that Maekar had left with regards to his children was whom to wed Daella to. Daella was a kind and sweet girl, who was looking more and more like her mother each day, one would have thought that there would be berth of offers for her hand, and there was not. Maekar knew not the reason for such a thing, but he still felt angry, the fools did not how blessed they would be to have Daella as a good daughter or a wife. They instead chose to focus on the fact that she had been born with a slight limp and a slightly deformed right hand, but that did not take away from who she was and how kind she truly could be. Gods that was going to be a headache, especially once Aerys died, which was looking more and more likely.

King Aerys was getting more and more ill with every passing day; a wasting sickness the maesters said was the cause of the illness. His brother had always been thin but now he was scarily so, so thin that his bones were more prominent in his clothes and more visible as well. Aerys spent much of his time in a milk of the poppy induced stupor, where he still muttered about dreams and prophecies; whilst he was awake it was much of the same. His brother was wasting away right before his eyes and Maekar had never felt so powerless, there was no foe for him to fight and kill to ensure his brother would live. For he knew what would happen once Aerys died, what rumours would spread about him, and he did not look forward to them, this cup was poisoned only a fool would want it to willingly pass to him.

Alas that was not what many on the council thought, this Maekar knew, he was not foolish to think otherwise. It was not secret that he had desired the handship once it had become clear Aerys would become King, it was not out of a desire for power no he simply did not want Bloodraven anywhere near his brother, not after what he had heard his father whisper on his deathbed about bastards. But when Aerys had done the fool thing to do and had named Bloodraven hand, Maekar had retired back to Summerhall, declaring that he would not serve on a council with that sorcerer no matter his intentions. That declaration had come to haunt him as he was now Hand of the King, and there were rumours abound that he was poisoning the king. Still as he looked at the council assembled before him he wondered who he could trust. “My lords I thank you for coming. The king is still gravely ill, but I know that had he not been he would have wished to attend.” A lie and they all knew it, Aerys had not attended a council session for years before he had fallen ill. “Now what are the most pressing matters that we must discuss?”

Michael Stone the master of whispers, Bloodraven’s prodigy and a slime ball if ever there was one spoke in that clear tone of his. “My prince, I have reports on the goings on the Riverlands if you would care to hear them.” Maekar nodded and the man went on. “Lords Darry, Shawney and Goodbrook have been meeting over the past two moons now discussing things that would be best left unsaid in our present company.”

Maekar snorted. “What concern is that of the throne’s if Lords Darry and company decide to discuss things with a certain perversion. No I asked for real news Stone not gossip.”

Stone smiled slyly then. “Very well My Prince. To discuss things with a perversion is not the only reason why these three lords are meeting. They meet to discuss things regarding support of the Black Dragon, as you might remember they bent the knee to Aemon Blackfyre in the last war, and are discussing whether or not doing such a thing would be wise once more.”

Maekar straightens and stiffens at that and says sharply. “And you have waited for two moons before telling the council this lord of Stone? A more suspicious man might call you out for being a liar or doubt your loyalty, but I would hear your reasons for delaying telling the council such important information.”

No matter how childish it might seem, Maekar is pleased by the flush that creeps up on Stone, good let the man be humbled. “My apologies my prince, but I did not think it appropriate to bring the matter before the council or the king, until I had definitive proof that the houses would actually rise in rebellion should it be asked of them. As I now do have such proof I feel that now is the right time to bring the news to you and for the throne to act.”

Aegon speaks then, his tone just as sharp as Maekar’s had been. “You say you have proof Lord Stone for your claims, if so where is it? House Darry has always been a staunch loyalist to House Targaryen and only fought for the Black Dragon in the last war because they had no choice.”

Lord Stone smiles slyly once more, and unfurls a piece of paper from his sleeve before throwing it onto the table. “Here my prince. A letter showing correspondence between Lords Shawney and Lord Goodbrook. It makes reference to their meetings in code, but my sources were able to make sense of it. They discuss the possibility of uniting with House Frey and marching on Riverrun, and laying siege to it as well. They believe that if they do this, then House Bracken will join them, and then Bittersteel will invade once he sees the chaos.”

Maekar picks the letter up from the table and reads it quickly. “Yes that is all here, and is all very well and good, but you mentioned Lord Darry as being part of the plot, I see no mention of him in this letter. These two men will not act without his support, and as he is not mentioned in this letter, I assume he has withdrawn his support from the venture. We have men watching Walder Frey day and night, should he make a move to support the Blackfyres the Twins shall be put to sword. No I want more proof before we make a move, is that understood.” Lord Stone nods though he looks none too happy about it.

There is a moment’s silence, and then Grand Maester Cerrold, the man the citadel sent to replace Grand Maester Justin speaks in that querulous voice of his. “My prince, my lords. I received a raven from Oldtown this morning, from Archmaester Garon. He writes that there have been sightings of Ironborn ships near the coast of Oldtown as well as near the Arbor. He fears that an Ironborn invasion of Oldtown might be on the cards, after all Daeron Stark never has seemed to have much respect for learning.”

Maekar speaks then his tone sharp and to the point. He has never liked Maester Cerrold; the man is a simpering fool. “Does Maester Garon have any proof of these accusations? Daeron Stark has allowed his Ironborn off their leash from time to time to go raiding in Essos never the rest of Westeros, for he knows that to do so would spark war, and Stark is not such a great fool as that.”

Maester Cerrold speaks once more his voice quivering. “My prince whilst that might be true, we know from the reports that Lord Stone has provided us that Daeron Stark seems to be having greater trouble controlling his nephew Lord Rodrick Greyjoy than he did his father Lord Dagon. The man gives no credit to the hard work put into maintaining the peace, and as such may be acting of his own free will.”

Stone speaks in agreement. “It is perfectly possible my prince. Rodrick Greyjoy is someone who constantly feels as if he has a bone to pick with the world. He might not be happy with raiding in the east anymore, and might simply want to go raiding in Oldtown.”

Maekar grimaces and says. “That may well be true, I want a raven sent to Lord Hightower, tell him to be on alert for any suspicious activities. I also want Lord Redwyne made aware of what might occur, the fool boasts of his fleet; let him show us what it has got.”

“Do you wish for Lord Redwyne to engage Rodrick Greyjoy my prince?” Lord Stone asks.

 _Wouldn’t you love if I did Stone._ Maekar thinks bitterly. Aloud he merely says. “No, I simply want him to be prepared in case he does need to be called to war.”

Stone nods and then there is a knock on the door and Maekar calls for whoever it is to enter, Ser Morris Tarbeck of the Kingsguard walks in an apologetic look on his face, he hands Maekar a note. Once he is done reading the note, Maekar feels anger welling up inside of him, how has this happened? Robb Reyne has escaped.

* * *

 

**Robb Reyne**

Gods he was too old for this. Ships had never truly been good to him even when he was younger. He had once boarded a boat from the Tumblestone as lad to take him to his mother’s home from home at Riverrun, and he had been sick the whole journey. Something that had been repeated when he had travelled by ship across the narrow sea once as a young man before the war had broken out. Then too he had been sick as a dog, perhaps lions, true lions were not meant to sail on ships, he had always felt more comfortable with a sword in his hand.

He touched the pommel of his sword for reassurance; it had been too long since he had swung a sword. The last time had been during the second Blackfyre war some five years ago now. He had been nigh unstoppable during that campaign, bringing down men twenty years younger than himself, treating them as if they were nothing but flies. That was when he had always felt most alive, when he was on the battlefield with a sword in his hand, and the only thing standing in his way of glory was a man. It was easy to understand battle and war, all you needed to do was make sure you survived the fights and lived to plan the next one. Those who over thought such things were the ones who were dead now, buried in the ground like the worms they were.

His brother Aemon had been one such worm. A red worm but a worm all the same, he had been a good soldier and a good lord, but he over thought thinks far too much had Robb’s older brother. Where Robb would weigh the options and choices presented to him for no longer than half an hour, Aemon would spend days or weeks at a time considering them. It was why they had been beaten during the first Blackfyre war after Fireball had fallen; it was why they had never won anything of repute against the Lannisters.

And yet his brother had always joked that it would be Robb who would die first. Would die because he was too impulsive to really analyse each decision and make the appropriate call, that he was too reliant on his gut. Perhaps he had been correct, Robb had spent the last five years in the black cells with squat all food or water, all because he had refused to be holed up inside of his castle whilst the Ironborn fought and won glory for themselves. He had been beaten and captured at Lion’s Ridge, and spent the next five years in darkness. Perhaps Aemon had been right, his brother had always been smart, but he never knew when to use those brains of his, for if he had he would still have been alive right now, and Robb’s children would not be holding Castamere.

That simple fact was enough to make Robb chuckle whether from grief, irony or madness he knew not. All he knew was that if his father had lived to see him and his inherit he would have pitched a fit. Robb liked to think he had been a good lord to his people that he had been firm and kind, he was a soldier he knew not how to rule, but he knew how to command respect and instil loyalty, and he would like to think he had done just that. Regardless his own son, Lann would have an easier time of it than Robb had had. His son was a natural leader, good with a sword, good with people, he had none of the awkwardness that Robb had had, but that was the one thing that would concern Robb now, would his son uphold the vow he and his brother had sworn to Daemon Blackfyre, that they would always fight for his children and his cause? He did not think so, the boy listened to his mother more than he had listened to Robb, and Robb’s wife was anything but loyal to the memory of Daemon Blackfyre.

Still he pushed such thoughts from his mind and turned his attention back to what had happened in the days leading up to his escape. He had heard rumours that Aerys Targaryen was gravely ill and that Maekar Targaryen himself was struggling with some sort of illness, if that was the case then perhaps they would be able to launch an invasion sooner rather than later. Of course Robb reminded himself this information had come from Velaryon and a snake, just like his ancestor had been. Robb was not entirely sure whether he believed the man, but of course he was sorely tempted to. Still there was some good news, Velaryon had told him that the Riverlords under Lord Darry’s guidance were planning on rebelling against Lord Tully soon enough, to allow a pre-emptive invasion and weaken the riverlords strength.

That would be necessary to distract the Iron Throne for a while, Maekar Targaryen was nothing if not shrewd, but he also had one weakness, he needed to aid those who would have spit in his face had he been anyone else. That would be the reason he fought in the Riverlands, and Stark would bring the north down to crush the Iron Throne, and his promise could be fulfilled. He could see it now, he could taste victory in the air, but then reality hit him like a wave when the ship rocked and he threw up into the bucket once more.

There was still much to be done, for starters he needed to get to Tyrosh and meet with Bittersteel. They would need to discuss the state of Westeros as Robb knew it, and he would need to know what the power structure was in the Golden Company, whether Bittersteel had surrounded himself with fools or men with sense, that was always an issue with the man. He never knew who to trust, and those he trusted like Seastar often hated him.

These thoughts continued floating round his head as he dismounted from the ship onto solid ground for the first time in nearly two moons. They kept circling round his head as he got on a horse and rode for the camp where the Golden Company was camped, and they were still going through his head when he dismounted his horse and greeted Aegor Rivers. The man had always been tall and broad shouldered, strong with a stern look on his face, but the white hairs that were beginning to appear in his hair worried Robb. His voice was still hard as iron though when he spoke. “Ah Lord Reyne so nice to see you once more. It truly has been a long time. Come, come I shall you introduce you.”

Introductions are made as Robb Reyne is introduced to Aerion Targaryen, married to Aegor’s nephew and apparently much saner than the last time Robb saw him. Haegon and Monterys Blackfyre are introduced as well and Robb does a double take at meeting them for they both look so much like their father, it’s as if a ghost has come back to haunt him. The other people he is introduced to are not important, exiled lords far beneath his own standing back home. Once all the introductions are done, he and Aegor retire to the Captain General’s tent and sit in silence for a long time, before they catch up on events passed, and then talk turns serious. “How soon do you plan on invading Aegor?” Robb asks.

Bittersteel laughs then. “Ah straight to the point as always. You have not changed Reyne, I have missed your company amongst these petty lords and their squabbles.” Robb keeps his face a mask and eventually Aegor relents and says. “Soon enough, there has been news from Westeros that I shall share with you in good time. But first I must know if we can count on House Reyne’s support when we invade.”

Had he still been Lord of Castamere he would not have hesitated to say that yes, yes they could. But he is not, his son is, and he knows not what his son will do. Aloud though, he cannot disappoint his friend. “Yes of course you can. And that of House Tarbeck as well, I am wed to Lord Tarbeck’s sister after all, and the man owes me a blood debt.”

Aegor breaks out into one of those rare smiles of his and his tone is light when he says. “That is good. The Lannisters are weak, their lord is but a boy, and a woman rules where once Tybolt Lannister stood tall and imposing. Men grasp for power there, they shall not be fighting in this invasion.”

Robb smiles. “That is good news then, that will mean that half the strength of the Westerlands shall march behind us. Lords Westerling, Kayce, Crakehall, Lefford and Tarbeck all bear grudges against the Rock enough to ignore any tension going on there.”

Aegor nods and then says. “Aye, we shall also have the support of Volantis as well.”

Robb looks at his friend for a moment and then says. “How have you managed that?”

His friend gives another one of those rare smiles then and says. “I wed one of the Triarchs’ daughters. Told him that when we take Westeros, his daughter and grandson will belong to the family of the king’s right hand man. That was enough for him. These Triarchs are simply people they want power and influence nothing more. The wench is good looking I shall give her that, even if she is a bit slow. She has born me two sons so far, healthy lads the both of them. That is all she is needed for nothing more.”

Robb nods and then hesitantly asks. “I had heard talk during my time in the black cells that you held Shiera and Daenaerys Martell here as hostages. Do you still hold them?”

Aegor’s face contorts with anger then and he says. “We hold Shiera, but Martell was freed by some savage in the night. I believe her goodbrother is known for holding some cutthroat in his service. It matters not, that woman will not be the same person she was before she came here.”

Robb wants to ask his friend how he knows that, but something about his friend’s tone puts him off from mentioning it, and instead he asks. “So what are things like between you and Shiera?” He does not bring up the kinslayer though by the scowl on Aegor’s face it is obvious he is thinking about the man as well.

His friend’s tone is harsh when he replies. “Well, or as well as can be considering she is still a prisoner. Maekar does not think her important enough to ransom back, nor will I willingly give her up. She remains here for now.”

Robb nods and then asks the question that has been nagging at him for some time. “Why did Velaryon help me escape Aegor? I had thought him sworn to the Targaryens; after all he had wanted one of Maekar’s daughters for his own had he not?”

Aegor smiles grimly then. “He had, but in allowing his son to wed his daughter, Maekar alienated one of his key naval allies. Velaryon wants revenge, but he does not want the other daughter. No his grandson is betrothed to Princess Daella, but he wants more power, he wants his a Velaryon on the throne, and soon enough he shall have it.”

Robb nods and then asks. “Now what is this other piece of information that you wished to tell me?”

His friend smiles once more, this time there seems to be genuine joy on his face, something Robb had not seen for a very long time. “We had a raven from one of our sources in the Red Keep, the false king has been ill for a very long time as I am sure you are aware. He died not three days ago. The realm is ripe for war now.”


	28. Rainbow Rising

**Walder Frey**

Gods it was warm, so bloody warm, he’d never known the Twins to be so gods damned warm, and he’d be alive for fifteen years. As he looked out at the great hall though and saw the music and revelry going on he supposed such heat was only to be expected. It was after all his wedding, and the Twins needed some excuse to celebrate. Things had been quite dire in the past few years since the last Blackfyre war, with the north being an independent kingdom, there had been no people coming from the south or the north to do trade, and as such the tolls that House Frey once used to thrive on collecting had become scarce. This had consequently seen their gold reserves begin to dry up, meaning that he had had to increase the toll on the bridge, and also charge more for the crops that those in the southern parts of the Riverlands bought from him.

He had not liked doing such a thing, but he supposed doing so was better than letting his people starve, which was most definitely what would have happened had he continued charging the rates that his father, and his father before him had charged for their produce. There had been grumbling, of course there, was there always was going to be grumbling, the riverlords had always been a quarrelsome lot, and the centuries of rule under the Targaryens had not done much to change that, still it was proving to be quite tiresome for Walder, listening to men such as Lord Shawney arguing the same point over and over again, as if they thought Walder would forget what had been said.

Still he supposed that this wedding would give his people something to celebrate, and the dowry that Lord Royce had given him was sizeable. Such money Walder had never seen before, at least not in an actual physical form, it seemed that Lord Royce desperately wanted his daughter Perra wed to Walder, why though Walder still did not know. His uncle Tomard, said it was because Lord Royce’s own uncle was wed to the Winter Dragon’s cousin’s sister, and the man wished to curry favour with Daeron Stark, and that this wedding itself could prove very useful in the future. How though, Walder was not entirely sure, not yet anyway. As far as he was concerned, Perra was a beautiful woman with full breasts and a healthy appetite, if the way she was fondling him under the table was any indication.

Soon enough calls for the bedding began to be heard over the hall, and so the night ended with Walder Frey bedding Perra Royce, with any luck he would have put a child in his lady wife. The succession of the Twins was of utmost importance, what with his uncle Tomard being a single widowed man with no children of his own. Still it appeared as if there would be no rest for him, not two weeks after his wedding was over and done with, a raven came from Riverrun, Lord Brynden Tully congratulated Walder on his marriage and then asked him when he would be able to pay his due of taxes. Not for a bloody long time was the answer, though the dowry Lord Royce had given him had been sizeable it was still not enough for him to be able to comfortably pay of the taxes and loans he owed, sorry that the Twins owed. His father truly had been a fool, not only had he taken a loan out from the Iron Bank he had asked for money from Riverrun and Casterly Rock, and now both great lords were breathing down Walder’s neck asking him when he would be able to pay it off.

He was more worried about what Lord Tully would do, should he forfeit on the loans he still needed to repay Riverrun. The Lannisters themselves were engaged in a squabble over whom should be the regent for Tybolt Lannister’s little brat, and therefore had only sent the notice out as a sort of customary thing, his uncle had told him. Lord Tully though was determined to get his money back, through one way or another, and as a result Walder knew he had to tread carefully with the man when he wrote his response. His response included an apology, stating that though he would have liked to have been able to pay off the loan now, he could not due to the need to collect all the harvest and taxes from his own bannermen before taking account of the costs of the wedding, he sent the note of and received a raven in reply saying that was fine, but soon enough he would have to pay.

With that headache out of the way, for the time being at least, Walder was able to spend more of his time focussing on his young wife and his people. He spent most of his nights with Perra, they fucked in every single position known to man, and they did it not once but as many times as they were both able, often finishing the night exhausted and sated, and yet there still did not seem to be any sign of an heir, even two moons into their wedding which was when such a thing would usually become apparent. When he raised the issue with the maester, the man simply said that sometimes such things took a lot of time, stating that it had taken Walder’s own mother some ten years of marriage before he was conceived and born. Walder does not feel entirely reassured, especially when his own uncle weds some Blackwood girl and immediately gets her with child, or so it seems.

It feels as if his uncle is now beginning to breathe down his back, a constant presence reminding Walder what he stands to lose should he not manage to get his wife with child soon enough. That only spurs him onto keep trying, and so he and Perra fuck until they are both tired and sick of each other, it does not seem to be paying off, but then five moons into their marriage Perra comes to him, her skin glowing, her eyes bright and she informs him that she is with child, and for that day and the week that follows Walder feels like the happiest man alive. And then Lords Shawney, Smallwood, Ambrose and Goodbrook arrive at the Twins and his good mood disappears.

Walder greets them all, a smile on his face though it is not genuine. “My lords, I am so glad that you could make it. I know we have much to discuss, and I will be happy to do so, but first I must ask, where is Lord Darry I thought he would have deigned to join us?”

Lord Harbert Goodbrook grumbles. “Darry got cold feet that one has more honour than sense, and has decided to remain at home with his fat oaf of a wife.”

Walder smiles internally, without Darry he now has a way to exclude himself from this talk of rebelling, but first he must play the game. “Ah that is a shame, but alas Darry always was an old woman at heart we are better without him.”

They all sit down in his solar, his uncle present as well as the ‘voice of reason’ and Lord Shawney speaks first, speaking plainly as is his way. “Well now that Darry is out of the equation, we do not have as many men as we had first hoped to raise in rebellion against the throne. But we do hope that House Frey will still join us in rebelling against the kinslayer on the throne. After all the Winter Dragon does have a close relationship with you does he not my lord?”

Sometimes Walder wonders how everyone he meets always remarks on that conversation and how they came to know of it in the first place, he will need to see who was spying on him that day and have their tongues cut out. Aloud he merely says. “I spoke with Daeron Stark but the once my lord, whilst he gave me many valuable lessons, I would not say that we share a close relationship. Still what would be in it for me and mine were I to side with you in this rebellion?”

Lord Shawney speaks once more. “Well my lord, as you know if you combine your strength to that of myself, Lords Goodbrook, Ambrose and Smallwood then we shall have a sizeable force, enough to give Riverrun trouble, and enough to persuade Harrenhal and Stone Hedge to side with us. If you side with us, then you shall win much and more gold and plunder for you and your family. Your coffers will swell with the wealth of the Riverlands, and the taxes and loans you owe Riverrun will be forgotten in an instant.”

Walder laughs slightly then and asks. “How can you be so sure of that? Harrenhal betrayed Daemon Blackfyre during the first Blackfyre war, and remained neutral during the previous war. How do you know that they will not do either of those things once more? And Riverrun will never forget the debts owed to it. To make them forget we would have to kill every single Tully that there is, I do not think that would be possible. And you say Bracken will join us, Lord Otho Bracken is a brute and many other things but stupid he is not. He will not join us unless the Golden Company invades.”

Lord Smallwood speaks then his voice harsh and brittle. “I think we are wasting our time here my lords. Frey does not mean to join us, had he wanted to he would have done so already. We shall have to leave here empty handed just as we had to do during the reign of his fool of a father.”

Uncle Tomard speaks then his voice sharp. “I would not be so quick to judge Lord Smallwood, there are many things that must be taken into consideration, things that I am sure you have not even bothered thinking about. So please be patient.”

Lord Goodbrook speaks then for the first time since that morning. “We are being patient Ser Tomard; we have come and have stated why we think House Frey should join its strength to ours. We are waiting for your nephew to make his decision, and with the way news travels in Westeros, we would like for him to make his decision as quickly as possible.”

Walder nearly laughs at that, has Lord Goodbrook ever done anything quickly in his life? Walder very much doubts so. Out loud though he says the words he and his uncle had agreed on before the lords had come to the Twins. “Well then my lords you should be happy to know that I have listened to your pleas and have reached a decision. Whilst I would love to commit my troops to your cause, I do not wish to commit to a cause that remains uncertain even now. I will give you food and money where it is required; these suppliers will be sold to you at a fair cost, the loans to Riverrun withstanding. That should be enough to allow you some time. I will also allow the northern forces to pass through unimpeded once the fighting starts so that you shall not lack in aid.”

The lords spend a large amount of time talking amongst themselves debating the merits of the proposal before Lord Goodbrook eventually speaks. “That is a better offer than we could have hoped for my lord. We shall accept that and take it with us. Hopefully Lord Bracken will see sense and join his strength to ours.”

They all stand then, and make for the door but before they do, Lord Smallwood turns to him and says. “You have gotten away freely here Frey, but do not think that next time will be so easy for you. Next time when the King calls you will answer with steel.” He stalks out of the room then.

* * *

 

**Elaena Targaryen**

Summer was warm and ripe in King’s Landing, it always had been even during the summers of her childhood, which were now faded with time, sepia coloured. The city still stunk worse than a unwashed whore, or her second husband had done. There was much that needed to be done before the city would ever truly feel like home again for her but of course those were just the whims of an old woman in the final stages of her life, not the concerns of the King or council. Though if you thought about it properly, she was a member of the council, her husband being so incompetent as master of coin that she did most of the work.

Her husband, the mere thought of Lord Lyonel Lefford was enough to cause Elaena to shiver with disgust, the man was almost as old as her uncle would have been where he still alive, the only reason that she had wed him was more out of a sense of duty and at King Aerys behest, that they needed a way to placate Lefford after the skirmishes with the Tullys. The man was Maekar’s master of coin, but was completely hopeless at his duties, no wonder the fish were able to steal so much of his coin, he never knew where it was when he needed it.

She had been wed thrice, her marriage to Lyonel Lefford her final marriage, a marriage that had lasted so far for seven years. Before that she had been wed to Lord Artys Connington Lord of Griffin’s Roost, now there was a man who knew what was what. Artys Connington she had married for love, when Daeron the Good still sat the throne, back when she was young and of a sharper mind. She had borne Artys three children, one of whom was now Lord of Griffin’s Roost and the other served in Maekar’s Kingsguard. Artys had been a sharp man, a passionate man and a kind man, much different to Lyonel Lefford, and a much better husband than Ossifer Plumm.

Plumm she had wed at Aegon’s insistence, the fat fool had thought it would be funny to see his cousin a dragon wed to that lowborn scum. She had made it work though, Plumm had died after the birth of Viserys, and so she had ruled as Viserys regent for some five years ensuring that everything was in order, and that their coffers were filled sufficiently. That was where she had learnt how to become good with coins and numbers, and how to manipulate them to her favour, and the favour of those she cared about. Her Viserys was now a powerful lord in his own right, wed to one of the Lannister sisters, and pushing for the regency of the young boy lord there. She hoped he would get it, the lions needed to be taught a sharp lesson.

Seven children she had borne, two with Alyn, dear sweet Alyn who still haunted her dreams at night. Jon and Jeyne, both of whom had done well in life, Jeyne had wed her half brother Lord Valarr Velaryon and had become a fine lady of the Driftmark though she was now dead, dead of a fever at birthing another child. Jon had become a skilled knight, but that kinslayer had used his skill and had killed him with it, his son was a bitter man because of that, but still Jon and Jeyne were the pride of her children. Viserys was powerful, but he was not her firstborn, still she loved him with all her heart, as she did his sister Daena who had been Lady of Castamere, and had raised several proud and strong sons. Her children with Artys were of course another source of pride for her; Nestor was Lord of Griffin’s Roost and was to serve on Maekar’s small council, as master of laws, an important position considering the recent troubles that had been seen throughout the land as of Aerys death. Nestor was the pride of the Kingsguard, a finer swordsman there had not been for many a year, not since Aemon himself had worn the white. Boremund, now Boremund was a proud man, a strong willed lad as well, her son, but he had often come into arguments with her about most things, he was too much like her, but then again he was a strong warrior and that would be needed in what was to come.

Thinking about what had happened in the council meeting that morning made Elaena sigh. Maekar’s council was not united; necessity had meant that fools such as her own husband were on a council they had no business being on. Such was the case with the master of ships Derryck Velaryon, the man was suspected of crimes that were very worrying for Elaena, more because the boy was too stupid to realise he was a suspect in them. There was tension alright in the council chamber, and she knew her nephew hated it, that he did not want to be there, that he would rather be anywhere but in King’s Landing. Alas Maekar had always been dealt a harsh hand in life, but he would plough through and continue, he needed to the kingdoms needed him to.

Bittersteel was mobilising his men once more, the fool, fighting for something that was a lost cause, the Blackfyres would not make it on to the throne, for whilst Bittersteel and Daeron Stark might be some of the best warriors to have ever graced Westeros and whilst they might inspire undying loyalty in their men, they were yet to realise that their cause had died that same day Daemon had died. Until they realised that, Westeros would continue to bleed, and many innocent people would lose their lives and families would be torn apart. Mayhaps things would have been different had her brother Daeron had survived Dorne, if he had then she knew that he would have broken the betrothal between Baelor and Daena and allowed her and Willam to marry. Then there would have been none of this chaos, Daemon would have been a Stark and the line of succession would have been secure. But no, her brother had to go and play the knight, the conqueror and Westeros was still paying the price for it in blood.

A knock on the door stirs Elaena from her brooding, calling for whoever it is to come in, she stands when she sees Rhaena there standing in the doorway. Her sister had been beautiful when they were both young, and her dedication to the faith has not taken away her beauty but has refined it. They embrace and then sit down in the two chairs in her room, comfortable silence envelopes them for a while before Rhaena speaks, her voice soft as it always is. “What news from the council meeting then sister?”

Elaena sighs, takes a sip of wine and then says. “More bickering amongst the lords, they are like little children complaining of things that ultimately Maekar will decide upon, and he often has before the council meets. Bittersteel is moving from Tyrosh, for Westeros they all agree and yet they hesitate to move, for the Riverlords have formally declared rebellion. Smallwood, Goodbrook, Shawney, Ambrose and Lothston have risen up and are now plundering the Riverlands.”

Rhaena is silent for a long moment and then she asks. “What does Maekar plan on doing about that then?”

“At present nothing. He believes that this is merely a feint by the Blackfyres, to distract him whilst Bittersteel invades with the Golden Company. Lord Brynden Tully has called all his remaining banners and is marching to do battle with the rebels, though all eyes are now on Winterfell to see what Daeron Stark will do.” She replies.

“Have these rebels said why they are doing as they are? Are they unhappy with the rule of the Tullys or do they fight for the Black dragon?” Rhaena asked.

Elaena sighed. “They claim to be fighting for Aegon Blackfyre, though my fool of a husband thinks they merely mean to usurp the Tullys from Riverrun. He forgets that those houses rebelling rebelled when Daemon rose up the first time. Daeron will have to fight now, he will come marching and then there will be more blood and corpses than there was last time.”

Elaena hears her sister sigh as well. “All that blood being spilt for a damnable chair. I have never understood what that chair does to smart people. Our uncle was one of the smartest men I knew, and yet he allowed Baelor to do as he wished for ten years, and he allowed the ending of Willam and Daena’s love and then reunited them when it was too late. And now we are paying the price. This war will never end, the High Septon claims it will go on until the end of days.”

Elaena had never had much time for the Faith, not after what her brother had done to her and her sisters, yet Rhaena had sought solace in it. “That is true, I think Baelor was to mad to realise what he had done by spurning Willam the way he did. That one thing along with Daeron dying is what will haunt us till we are both dead in the ground. But surely there must be a way for peace to come, a settlement. Will the High Septon not intervene?”

Rhaena shakes her head. “No, he believes that it is not his place to question the work of men or the gods. He believes that the answers will come in time. And he has forbidden me from trying to bring peace. He says the two dragons will need to work it out themselves, meaning Daeron and Maekar. They are good friends; surely they can reach an accord. That is what the High Septon believes, despite my words to the contrary.”

“The High Septon seems a fool sister. Were the Most Devout lax in choosing a man who had his wits about him? Or is the man Baelor come again?” Elaena says frustrated.

Her sister merely smiles. “The High Septon is an interesting man. He says much and does little when it comes to politics. Yet there have been no disturbances amongst the small folk as there were during Aerys reign that is the High Septon’s work. He preaches for the people to remain peaceful, and the seven will deliver them justice and plenty. It is up to Maekar and the small council to ensure that that happens.”

Elaena does not argue there, instead she changes the topic of conversation. “I hear you will be visiting Oldtown soon. What has driven you to go there?”

Rhaena for the first time in a long while seems nervous, and then her next words surprise Elaena. “I spoke with someone from Oldtown not three days past in the Great Sept, and they informed me that something strange is happening in the Hightower, and the Citadel. Lord Albar has not stirred from his tower for some time, and the conclave it is said has met once more, though the maester remains the same. I am going to see what has happened to our contacts there.”

“You believe they are plotting something?” Elaena asks.

“I know not sister. All I know is that I have a very bad feeling about this, whatever it is. I must go and see what is happening, I must speak with our contacts in Oldtown and I must stop whatever it is that the Citadel is plotting. We have had enough trouble from them in the past, now we can ill afford more.” Rhaena replies.

On that solemn note her sister gets up and Elaena bids her farewell with a kiss and watches as she walks away down the corridor, no doubt to see King Maekar. Elaena herself returns to her and her husband’s bedroom in Maegor’s, feeling the ache in her bones, more so than she has ever done before. When she enters, her husband gives her a letter, and she feels her heart sink then. War once more has come, much more than before. 


	29. Tarot Woman

**Lord Commander Theon Stark**

It had been seven years since Aemon Blackfyre had died on the Bleeding Water, seven years in which peace had largely returned to Westeros and the Kingdom of the North and Iron Islands. Apart from a minor rebellion on the Three Sisters which saw House Sunderland wiped out apart from Lord Davos’ granddaughter who was now wed to Theon’s nephew Prince Jorah Stark, their wedding having taken place some two moons ago. Theon’s nephew had left for the Three Sisters in order to further his hold on the islands, not that there would be much resistance to his rule, not now that the houses that had risen in rebellion, Longthorpe and Borrell had been extinguished during their failed rebellion and replaced by houses that would be more loyal to Jorah and to Winterfell. Jorah himself would make a good ruler, he had followed in Aegor’s example and had listened to every word Theon’s brother King Daeron had had to say on the matters of ruling, lessons that Theon knew his own brother had learnt from their father and from years of experience.

There had also been some concern over Rodrick Greyjoy and his ascension to the lordship of the Iron Islands. Where Greyjoy’s father had been a reasonable man, someone whom Theon knew could be trusted with maintaining the peace when peace was what was needed, Rodrick Greyjoy seemed to be more a man inclined to follow his own instincts, and if his actions during the last Blackfyre war were any indication, they were quite brutal. Some on the council, mainly Jonnel Manderly and Ethan Glover had worried that perhaps Greyjoy would go against protocol and begin invading and raiding the lands south of the neck, which would undoubtedly bring retribution from the Iron Throne and with that would come war, and at that point the north had not been ready for war. Yet Greyjoy had proven to be reasonable, coming to Winterfell himself to assure Daeron and the council that he would not do anything that would go against their plans, and that when the call came the full might of the Iron Islands would be there ready for their use.

It seemed as if, Greyjoy would soon be called upon, word had come from the south, the Riverlords, Shawney, Smallwood, Goodbrook, Ambrose and Lothston had all called their banners in rebellion against Riverrun and the Iron Throne. The letter had read that they were rebelling in order to put the rightful king, Aegon Blackfyre, Theon’s own nephew on the throne. When the raven had come, Theon had expected that both his brother and nephew would rush to aid the rebel riverlords in their attempts to seat a Blackfyre on the throne, and yet his brother had surprised them all by reading the letter and then putting it aside and turning to talk about some other issue. When he had asked him about that later, Daeron had simply replied. “The north is not completely ready yet to mobilise. Let the fish bleed themselves dry first, then we shall strike and this time we shall not fail.” It seemed as if Daeron was remaining true to his words, reports continued to flow in from their sources in the south, Walder Frey was aiding the rebels with food and money but not with troops, and the rebels had amassed a sizeable force at Harrenhal and were preparing to march on Riverrun itself.

The King they were trying to seat on the Iron Throne, Aegon Blackfyre, Theon’s nephew, his sister Barbrey’s son was not like his father or even Theon’s half brother, the original black dragon. Where Daemon and Aemon had been more about fighting with the sword than their mind, and had little attention to books or words, Aegon was more calm and composed and much more withdrawn, more focussed on learning and reading, but still a decent swordsman if not the best. The boy, for that was what he was, seemed to have a sharp mind for politics, and often in council meetings Theon had heard him argue for caution against some of the more rash suggestions that had come from men who really should have known better.

And so they had remained in Winterfell, though the banners had been called, and as the lords began filing in, the moons began to pass by and yet there seemed to be no movement or haste on Daeron’s part to march south. News continued to filter in from the Riverlands; a battle had been fought at Rushing Falls between the forces of Lord Lothston and Lord Piper, ending with Piper’s host being routed and the man himself being slain. Another battle had been fought at Tumbler’s falls, between the combined forces of House Blackwood and House Bracken against the forces of the rebels lead by Arthor Ambrose, another victory for the rebels with Lord Otho Bracken being slain. A stalemate had been reached though in the Riverlands, Acorn Hall had been seized by those loyal to the Iron Throne and the castle put to the sword, forcing the rebels to retreat to the limited safety of Harrenhal. That had finally managed to stir Daeron from whatever plans he had been making with Edwyle, as well as the fact that they had received word that Bittersteel and the Golden Company had invaded the Stormlands and had so far managed to take two of the castles on Cape Wrath.

So they set out from Winterfell, 15,000 strong made up of men from Winterfell, Cerwyn, Barrowtown, the Rills, Last Hearth, the Dreadfort and Karhold. When they arrived at Moat Cailin, they were joined by an extra 5,000 men from Stony Shore, White Harbour and the Neck. A raven had been sent to Pyke informing Rodrick to begin raiding along the coast of the Westerlands, the Lannisters were in chaos, and would likely fall easily this time. From there they moved down the Twins where they were greeted by the young lord of the Crossing, Walder Frey. Frey was newly married and it showed, his wife was glowing with pregnancy and the lad himself seemed to be constantly at her side. He greeted them warmly, and gave them every hospitality and when they asked for news of the war he told them. “Bracken and Blackwood have retreated back to their castles, Tully broods in Riverrun, and a force is mustering at Maidenpool to lay siege to Harrenhal.”

They spent roughly a week in the Twins, Daeron speaking with Walder Frey and his own lords, and when Theon was not needed he spent that time with Jeyne. Things between him and Jeyne had always been complicated, they had known each other since they were little more than babes, and had always felt something for one another, heck that was why they had joined the Winter’s Guard as a way to escape whatever other fate their families would have given them. Of course their vows, and the honour attached to such vows often made them both feel ashamed of what they were doing, which was why they had ended their affair sometime ago, that did not mean that there were not still feelings there.

They were still present, and after a sparring session, they found themselves alone, for the first time in a while. Sweat was dripping off of both of their bodies, as they moved back to the castle. “That was a good session Lord Commander.” Jeyne said in her cool voice. “Certainly, much better than some of the other sessions we have had.”

Theon merely grunted. “Aye, you no longer swing a sword like a monkey at a menagerie.”

Jeyne laughed and hit him on the arm. “Oh but you have never swung a sword like a monkey have you mister perfect?”

Theon chuckled then. “I could not afford to. Not with Daeron and Daemon as brothers. It was either learn how to become one of the best, or be reminded that I could never be the best.”

Jeyne stops laughing then and her tone is serious when she says. “I have seen your brother and you fight in battle Theon, and whilst Daeron fights like a god, I think you are much more pleasing to the eye.” She grins wickedly then and pushes him against the wall and kisses him deeply.

He is about to respond when there is a slight cough behind them, and they both break apart flushing slightly to find Asphell Wull standing there looking rather smug. “The King wants you Lord Commander. He is in Lord Walder’s solar.”

Theon nods and bids farewell to Jeyne before heading off to the solar. When he enters the room, he finds his brother, his goodsister, Lord Walder himself as well as his brother Cregan, and the lords of the north present. Their expressions are serious. “Sit down brother.” Daeron says. Once he has sat down Daeron speaks once more. “We have had word from Riverrun, well more precisely Lord Walder here has had word from Riverrun. Brynden Tully is demanding that Walder call his levies and march at once for Harrenhal to aid in the siege that will be commencing there in a few days time.”

“Whose forces will be laying siege to Harrenhal Your Grace?” Old Lord Hothar Umber asks.

Theon watches his brother, and is surprised when a grin spreads across his face. “Why my lord of Umber, House Bracken, House Blackwood and House Ryger’s forces shall be heading to Harrenhal, the other riverlords are a spent force. Piper is dead; Mallister is old and dying with no heirs apart from his daughter. Mooton is in chains in Harrenhal. Tully’s host will be made up of greybeards and green boys.”

Theon speaks then, getting an inkling of what his brother is getting at. “Where will this host be meeting Your Grace? Tully surely won’t wish for another Oldstones, and our presence here will soon become common knowledge.”

Walder Frey speaks then. “Tully has stated that the men will meet at High Heart, in the ruins of the Green Men’s palace, in three days time.”

“He expects his bannermen to assemble their own men that quickly?” Theon asks shocked.

Walder Frey shakes his head. “No my lord. He has likely sent this same raven out to the houses mentioned some weeks ago. He has only sent the raven here to me now, because of what has happened over the past few moons between our two houses.”

Theon nods, and Daeron speaks once more. “We have imposed ourselves on you for long enough Lord Walder. We shall march at first light tomorrow. We thank you for your hospitality and for the food you have kindly provided us.” Walder Frey nods and then gets up and leaves. Once he has gone, Daeron speaks once again. “Frey will remain neutral, but shall keep the bridge open for us should we need a hasty retreat, more I cannot ask of him. Lord Hothar, you shall lead the vanguard. Lord Jonnel you shall lead the reserve, Lord Steffon you shall lead the left. And I shall lead the right. We shall crush this host and march for King’s Landing soon enough.”

Sure enough, the next day at first light they set off for High Heart, Daeron keeps a brisk pace, and by the time they break up for camp later that night, all the men are tired. Jeyne shares his tent that night, and the night after that. They come upon the host of the Riverlords on the third day; they fall upon them like wolves falling upon their prey. Theon hears Aegor’s wolf Serron howl, and then the attack begins. Hacking and slashing Theon barrels through the men bearing the sigils of Ryger and Bracken, cutting them down  like they are nothing more than lambs being brought to the slaughter.

The fighting rages for what seems like days, but is more than likely only hours. Hacking and slashing, Theon cuts a blood path through those who stand before him, until his sword is stained red with blood. He hears the sounds of men in their death throes, screaming crying out for their mothers and wives and siblings they will never see again. His face a grim mask as he continues slicing his way through, making sure to keep Daeron in his eye line, the king fights like a man possessed slashing men down like they are nothing more than dolls. Aegon Blackfyre fights as well as his father did, earning a few points along the way. Aegor fights with a spear, stabbing and jabbing those who come across him.

Victory comes, with a sword through Brynden Tully’s throat, Aegon Blackfyre the man to do the deed. When Tully’s men see their liege lord’s head mounted on a spike they throw down their weapons and surrender. The north’s first victory in this war, and it allows them easy passage into Harrenhal, where they are greeted like heroes. Along with the news that The Golden Company have set their sights on Storm’s End.

* * *

 

**Ser Duncan the Tall**

It still felt strange being a member of the Kingsguard. There were times when Dunk could not really believe any of the events of the past fourteen years had truly happened. Sometimes it felt as if it was all just a dream, and that he was going to wake up at any moment now and still be with Ser Arlan, the Old man would have been proud to see Dunk where he was now. Dunk himself was very proud of where he was now, from being some thief in Flea Bottom to a knight of the Kingsguard. It seemed Daemon Blackfyre’s dream had come true. Dunk often wondered what had become of Blackfyre after they had left him in the north, whether he had become a maester like he had wanted to, or whether he was still in Winterfell hiding for his life.

The Blackfyres, gods damn it, Dunk had seen what the previous two wars had done to the kingdoms, and now the Blackfyres had resurfaced once more to cause havoc and chaos to the lands that they would rule. He could not understand it, surely they knew how much destruction was caused by their invasions? Surely men such as Daeron Stark and Aegor Rivers, knew that the more times they pushed for rebellion, the less likely it would be that people would continue to join them? The more people that died during these wars, the less friendly the small folk and the nobles would be to the Black Dragons, at least that was what Dunk hoped would happen.

Alas, he did not think that such things would be thought about until much later, perhaps when he was long dead. Dunk had met Daeron Stark that one time, long ago when he and Egg had helped the Blackfyre boy flee to Winterfell. There had been something about Stark that had simply seemed to make it crystal clear to Dunk, that the man would never rest until one of his brother’s descendants sat the throne, even if it cost him everything to achieve. It seemed to Dunk based on what he had heard of the man since then, that his earlier assumption was not far wrong. Yet from his conversations with Egg he knew that it was Daeron Stark and not Aegor Rivers who was giving King Maekar sleepless nights. Rivers whilst being a good commander was not half the warrior Daeron Stark was nor could he inspire loyalty like the Winter Dragon could.

Dunk’s thoughts turned away from all of that to what he had just learnt from Egg earlier on in the day. Apparently, a raven had come the King’s Landing announcing the marriage of Lord Borros Tarth to one Sylvia Storm, a woman who was said to be quite tall and with black hair, she was the daughter of a hedge knight and a Lady Genna Storm. Dunk had merely stared at Egg when he had said that name, not really knowing why such a thing should be important to him, or why Egg would even bring it up. It had taken Egg asking him where they had gone after the Tourney of Ashford before it all struck home. Lady Genna Storm, the fair maiden of Tarth, a woman who had stolen his heart and his love, he had loved her and then had to leave her for their travels would allow for no romance. He had never known she had been with child, or he would have done something, anything for her and the child.

Now he was in the Kingsguard, and his daughter had wed the Lord of Tarth, he would never be able to see her nor acknowledge her, for he was a member of the Kingsguard now, and besides why would she wish to know Dunk the Lunk, better to let her think of her father in the worse way, or not think of him at all. Still there was some part of him that was proud his daughter; bastard though she may be had managed to wed so highly. Aegon had merely said that the Lord of Tarth was in love with the girl and that his father was deeply unconcerned with the whole thing.

Below him, Dunk heard the door to White Sword tower open, and for a moment he strained to hear if there was any conversation going on, there was not and judging by the soft footfalls on the steps the man walking up them was likely Ser Roland Crakehall, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Roland was a very good swordsman, one of the best in the land Dunk often thought, a smart man as well; it had been he who had advised Dunk to keep his head down during those early days. Ser Oberyn Dayne, the new sword of the morning, fierce and as quick as a snake and glib of tongue, Ser Gorris Crabb a stout little man with more brawns than brains, Ser Nestor Connington, the pride of the Kingsguard a fierce swordsman and son of Elaena Targaryen, Ser Steffon Storm the bastard of Nightsong a fierce fighter and a smart man as well and Ser Boremund Royce a very good swordsman but a quiet man. These were Dunk’s sworn brothers, and they were all skilled, more skilled than he at fighting and swordsmanship. Still they were friends or comrades if not that.

Just as they were sworn to keep the King’s secrets, there was an unwritten rule amongst the Kingsguard that they kept each other’s secrets as well. That was how Dunk knew that Ser Steffon for all his bluster and anger about being a bastard, had an ongoing affair with a washerwoman down the Street of Silk. It was how he knew that Ser Roland though still a capable swordsman was ailing, tiring more than he used to do. It was how he knew of the tensions between Ser Oberyn Dayne and Ser Garse Tyrell of Highgarden. A knock on the door and he found himself looking at the lord commander. He stood up and bowed his head slightly. Ser Roland seemed tired when he said. “The king wishes to see you Dunk.”

Dunk nods and gets up from his chair, nods once more at Ser Roland and then walks down the steps of White Sword Tower to the King’s solar, where he finds Ser Steffon and Ser Oberyn on duty, he nods to them and they let him past. He is not all that surprised to find Egg there, he thinks that the lad is a soothing influence on the usually gruff King. The King is sat looking at a letter when he enters, he does not look up, but does say. “Sit down Ser Duncan.” Dunk sits down in a chair opposite the king and waits for him to speak. It takes a long time but eventually King Maekar puts down the paper he was reading and sighs. “You must be wondering why I have asked for you.” Dunk is silent waiting. “Well as you know the Riverlords recently faced defeat at High Heart, Daeron Stark and the north have taken Riverrun and now sit in Harrenhal plotting their next move. Lord Jasper Arryn is moving from the Gates of the Moon to fight them, so that should keep them busy. But no, that is not why I have asked you hear. No, we had word today that Bittersteel means to lay siege to Storm’s End. The Stormlords are either dead or are in Storm’s End. Bittersteel has some of Reacher Lords with him, as well as the Golden Company and the Second Sons. I mean for Aegon to lead a force of men to deal with the Golden Company, but first he will need to fight Osgrey and those fools. You will go with him as will Ser Roland.”

Dunk nods and then asks. “Will you not be joining us Your Grace?”

The King sighs. “No, I cannot. I will be leading some 10,000 men from the Crownlands to march on the Vale to help deal with the invaders from the north.”

Dunk nods and then asks once more. “When will we be leaving?”

It is Aegon who answers. “At first light tomorrow. The lords of the crownlands are already here ready and waiting.”

Once that conversation is done, Dunk walks back with Aegon to his chambers. They talk as they walk. “How are you feeling lad?” Dunk asks.

“Nervous.” Egg replies.

“Good.” Dunk replies.

“How is that good?” Egg asks.

“Because it means you are not stupid and that you still have some wits about you. We are not fighting some rabble of peasants this time Egg. We will be fighting battle hardened men, and the Golden Company as well. We will need to be on our guard.” Dunk replies.

Egg sighs then. “I know that Dunk, I do. But I wish my father could come as well. But no the Vale Lords are hesitating on marching west, because Daeron Stark has sent men to invade the northern coast of the Vale. The Ironborn are raiding along the western coast and the Lannisters do not have the power to stop them. The Reach is torn, there is fighting along the border with Dorne.”

Dunk looks at his former squire then, his eyes large. “Dorne has declared for the Blackfyres?”

Egg shakes his head. “No Ser. The Yronwoods have but the rest of Dorne remains loyal. No Dorne is fighting those Reacher lords with more brawns than sense, who are fighting for Aegon Blackfyre.”

Dunk sighs then. “This will be a long war. A very long war.”

Three weeks after he said those words, they come true. They face a battle with rebel Stormlords and Reacher Lords led by Addam Osgrey in the Kingswood. The fighting is fierce, Dunk, swings and hacks and cuts, he does all he can to remain ahorse and alive, all the while keeping one eye on Egg, making sure the lad is still ahorse. He hacks and slashes his way through the soldiers that get in his way, riding down those who refuse to die by the sword. On and on it goes, he can hear the sounds of men screaming and pleading for relief through his helm. Relief that others are more than willing to give them.

Dunk takes his fair share of blows as well. One big bastard swinging a greatsword like its a  stick cuts him so hard he fears he will bleed to death before the battle is done. Still somehow Dunk manages to kill the bastard, and move onto the next man, who proceeds to open the wound up further, causing him to shout with pain, he hacks his way through that man. The wound continues to open underneath him though and he feels so much pain, his vision begins to blur. He cuts down one more man before the world turns black.

When he comes to, he is in a tent that is bustling with activity, he hears coughing and men speaking in hushed voices. He raises his head up and feels a stab of pain in his shoulder. “You’re awake!” He hears someone shout, before realising its Egg, and with him Ser Oberyn Dayne.

“What happened?” Dunk manages to slur.

Egg speaks quietly then. “You were wounded fighting a giant of man Ser, he cut you deeply and you continued to bleed throughout the battle before you passed out.”

Dunk sighs. “I know that, what happened to the battle?”

Egg smiles then. “We won ser; we managed to beat back the rebels, driving them away from the Kingswood and into either death or the sea. Addam Osgrey is our prisoner now along with several other lords from the Reach.”

Dunk nods and then asks. “Where are we now?” the last word is a slur, a worrying thing for Dunk, and for Egg too if the boy’s frown is anything to go by.

“We’re camped outside Haystack Hall Ser. We’ll be here for some time yet.” Egg says.

Dunk nods, and then winces, he can feel the world going black around him, but before he gives in he reminds Egg. “Send scouts out before you march, we cannot be caught unawares.”


	30. Shades of War

**Aerion Brightflame**

The Stormlands were living up to their reputation and their name. It was pelting it down with rain, and Aerion knew that thunder would soon be on its way. How anyone could bare to live in this place he knew not, and for him it seemed to explain the rather grim outlook that most of the Stormlords had of life. Well it was either the weather or the fact that they were now serving the Blackfyre cause instead of the Targaryen cause. That was something that Aerion himself still found a bit odd and jarring at times. He was fighting for the people who wished to see his father removed from the throne, and would more than likely have those he had grown up knowing as family put to the sword if they won. It was a very strange feeling to have, and a very odd thing to think about, he often tried his hardest not to think about it, but on occasion such thoughts would rear their head once more.

The conquest of the Stormlands had begun on Cape Wrath, the men of the Golden Company along with men from the Second Sons and the Company of the Cat had set sail from Tyrosh and had landed on the western coast of the Stormlands. There had been some resistance, a small group of men led by one Lord Boremund Fell had tried to prevent them from marching any further but he had been killed and his host routed and now they held Rain House, Mistwood, Stonehelm, Crow’s Nest and Grandview. Joined by Blackfyre loyalists from the Reach led by Lord Addam Osgrey, they had managed to take Blackhaven, before learning of a force marching up from Dorne and a host marching from Highgarden, as well as a host marching from King’s Landing being led by Aerion’s own little brother Egg.

Bittersteel had decreed that Addam Osgrey would lead the host of rebel reacherlords against Egg’s host in order to prove his loyalty to their cause, and that Aerion would lead a raiding party close to where the battle would take place. As Bittersteel had said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you lad, it’s that I don’t trust you not to do something rash.” The move had not paid off, Egg’s host had crushed the rebel reacherlords in the Kingswood, and now they held Osgrey as well as several other Reacherlords prisoner. His brother was camped near Haystack Hall, a place that was lightly garrisoned, and should be easy to infiltrate. At least that was what Bittersteel had thought when he had sent Aerion to go raiding near the place, with some 500 men.

Not a sizeable host, but one that would be enough to distract any larger host from getting near Bittersteel and the rest of the company as they made for Griffin’s Roost. Aerion though could not afford to think of that now, not when he could see banners flapping close by, the banners of his house, the banners his father had adopted before he had become king. Aerion felt something drop inside of him, beside him his squire Aegor’s son Aenar spoke up. “Shall I sound the horn my lord?” Aerion shook his head, this was to be a surprise attack, they did not need the men there to be alerted to their presence before they were ready.

Aerion drew his sword and spurred his horse on, the rain masking the sound of his and his men’s horses hooves on the ground, the men in his brother’s camp realised what was upon them too late. Aerion let loose a roar, and began hacking and slashing his way through the men in his path. They fell like dolls to the ground, cuts and thrusts letting blood leak from the wounds Aerion had given them. This process went on and on and on, hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing he went. Cutting men down to nothingness, he was given as good as he got a few times, his armour was dented in several places and he could feel the beginnings of a nasty wound where that Cafferen bastard had hit him with the war hammer.

The battle was raging around them, and Aerion cut down two more men before he saw place where the prisoners were being kept. He bellowed some commands and then charged off towards the prisoner camp, cutting down those who came in his way. He could hear the sound of his men following him, those on foot soon charging towards the cells beginning to pick the locks free whilst those who were mounted stood guard. He turned to his squire then and said. “Sound the horn lad.” When the horn blew, it seemed as if the whole world went quiet and then from the shadows came an answering horn blast and then the sound of hooves and mounted men. The men of the Second Sons came streaming out of the Kingswood and began cutting down those men who still remained of Egg’s host near the prison camp.  

One of the foot soldiers came up to him then and said. “We’ve managed to get most of the prisoners free my lord. What would you have us do?” Aerion was about to reply when an arrow came whizzing by and buried itself deep within the man’s throat, silencing him for good. Aerion turned round and saw a man bearing the coat of arms of House Grandison mounted on a horse, with a man in a white cloak and Aerion’s brother next to him. Aerion turned his horse around then to better face his brother, whilst two men came up next to him. “Brother so nice to see you. Though a shame we are fighting on opposite sides.”

Egg had always been a bit of a snotty brat, and it seemed age had not changed him; his voice was laced with anger when he replied. “Traitor. I should have killed you when I had the chance. At least I can rectify that now.” No more conversation was held, as the two brothers drew their swords once more, both were glistening with blood and were wet from the rain and they spurred their horses on.

They meet in a clash of steel, sparks flying. They break apart and then begin the dance once more, swinging their swords like men possessed. Sparks continue to fly from their swords, and Aerion pushes with all his might and manages to break their contact. The dance continues, on and on it goes, they meet in the middle of sparks and flames, and both push against one another with all they have, neither has the bull like strength of the men they grew up hearing of, but still they swing at each other, striking steel more often than they strike armour or exposed flesh.

When they do strike armour or flesh, the sound of it hitting the relevant part must be nothing compared to the pain the other feels at the contact. Swinging at each other like mad men, the duel continues, as around them the battle ebbs and flows. Men are sent to their graves, others make a name for themselves, but Aerion and Aegon Targaryen continue to fight one another, irrespective of what happens around them. Eventually though, Aerion’s experience wins out, and he manages to disarm his brother, with his sword pointing at Aegon’s throat, Aerion thinks that he could kill his brother now, and make Bittersteel’s life so much easier, without Egg, their father would have no real alternatives. But then he wavers as his mother’s face flashes before his eyes. No he can’t do that to her, he is many things but he is not a kinslayer.

He sheathes his sword. “You have lost little brother. Retreat back to King’s Landing. I will not slay you.” With that he turns his horse back and rides for Griffin’s Roost where hopefully, Bittersteel has taken the castle. When he arrives at the designated meeting point he is met by Ser Robb Reyne, who always views him with suspicion. “What news of Griffin’s Roost?” Aerion asks.

Reyne is silent a moment before replying. “It has fallen, Lord Connington is slain his son our prisoner. What happened at Haystack, did you get the prisoners?”

As if on cue one handed Lord Addam Osgrey rides up next to them, his armour is covered in mud and blood, but he seems happy. “Aye he did. Our boy here managed to see to our release as well as the release of some 50 other prisoners before the Targaryens fell onto us.”

Reyne nods and then asks. “So what has happened? Do we hold Haystack Hall now or no?”

Aerion is silent for a long moment, so caught up in fighting his brother that he had not remembered the other reason why they had been sent out. Lord Addam thankfully answers for him. “Aye Lord Reyne we do. Prince Aegon and his white knight retreated with some 2000 men back to King’s Landing. Prince Aegon is quite badly wounded though, he won’t be fighting for some time. Old Derryck Hill holds Haystack for his grace now.”

Reyne nods and then rides back towards Griffin’s Roost. Aerion, Osgrey and the men who are left to them ride with him. Upon entering Griffin’s Roost, they are greeted with a celebratory atmosphere; the men of the company are drinking and feasting, toasting their successes, confident of more to come. In the centre of it all sits Bittersteel, the man Aerion has come to regard as a father figure, more of a father than King Maekar ever was. For once a smile graces his features, it widens as he sees Aerion. He gets up and clasps Aerion on the arm saying in that deep voice of his. “Well done son. I heard about Haystack, could not have done it better myself. Storm’s End is now pinned in on itself. Felwood and Bronzegate have declared for us. But we shall talk of politics later, now we celebrate.” And celebrate they do, long into the night and the early hours of the next morning.

Aerion’s head is pounding when he awakens the next morning to a summons from Bittersteel to join him and the other commanders of the company in what was once Lord Connington’s solar. Aerion sees that he is not the only one with a sore head and wishing for another few hours of sleep. Bittersteel though is still chirpy and active. Once Aerion has sat down and the chatter ceases Bittersteel begins speaking. “We have done well so far my lords. We hold the whole of Cape Wrath now, with only Estermont and Tarth standing in our way. Haystack Hall is ours, as are Bronzegate and Felwood. Dondarrion has declared for King Aegon, and Summerhall has surrendered to us. Storm’s End will play no further part in this war. Now we must focus on the north and taking King’s Landing.”

There is much murmuring at that, the good kind, with the Stormlords all effectively for the Blackfyre cause, they should have some solid strength for when the final battles come up. Ser Garse Flowers the company’s spy master speaks then. “Prince Aegon retreated back to King’s Landing with some 2000 men, but the prince himself is quite badly injured and most likely will not take part in any further battles. Lord Walder Mooton led some 3,000 men  to fight Daeron Stark and his northmen, they were defeated and some of their key lords sit in the dungeons in Harrenhal. And Maekar Targaryen sits and broods in King’s Landing.”

More cheers met this announcement, Osgrey spoke next. “What of the Reach and Dorne?”

“The Yronwoods and their allies are keeping the Martells busy, whilst the Florents and the Costaynes and their allies harry the Tyrells host. Maekar shall be left stranded soon enough.” Flowers replied.

Aerion looks at the man he has come to regard as a father, and sees that the smile that is on Bittersteel’s face looks as if it might break his face it is so big. His voice is calm though when he speaks. “That is all well and good, with our allies in a strong position, and the Targaryens as good as dead and buried; we could march on King’s Landing. But we shall not, no that is what Maekar will expect us to do, and we are not green boys. We shall march north for Harrenhal, to meet up with the King and Daeron Stark, and from there we shall take King’s Landing!”

 Once the men had left the solar, it was just Aerion, Ser Aegor and Ser Haegon. Aerion felt as tired as the two other men looked, and was surprised when Haegon spoke, so rarely did he talk. “We know Targaryen fought you Aerion, and that you spared him, and whilst we understand why, it has harmed our war effort slightly.”

Aerion looked at Bittersteel, but his mentor was not looking at him, instead he was flicking through reports. Aerion was silent for a long moment before saying. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him. He might be the enemy, but he’s still my little brother and I couldn’t do that to my mother.”

Aerion sees Haegon’s nostrils flare as they always do when he is angry. His voice his quiet but laced with venom when he speaks next. “The boy would not have hesitated to kill you if he had been more skilled Aerion! It is no secret that your family despise you. And with good reason to, if you are to craven to kill them when duty dictates you do so.”

Aerion feels his own anger begin to boil then. “I am no craven Haegon. I would not make myself a kinslayer, no matter what the cause was. I am not you.” The minute the words leave his lips he regrets them.

Bittersteel looks up then and says softly. “Enough. We shall not fight amongst ourselves, not when we are so close to victory. Aerion next time the opportunity presents itself, you are to kill those who stand in your path. And that might happen very soon. Haegon, learn to control your temper better.”

Aerion stands up and bows before leaving the room, when he enters his own he begins writing a letter that he knows he will not send. It is too risky to send anything to Tyrosh now, and so the ache in his heart for his wife and children will have to remain without contact for some more time.

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon ‘Egg’ Targaryen**

He can still feel the pressure of the blade as it was pressed against his throat, can still hear the pounding of his heart in his ears, as he thought that the end was approaching. Aegon Targaryen had faced many dangers in his life, but he had never faced death in the face before, and the experience had left him shaken, shaken to the core. What made it worse was the fact that it was Aerion who was the one who had brought him so close to death. Aerion, the brother who all said was mad, who was a traitor, the brother he had sworn that he would kill if he ever got the chance, Aerion was the person who had held his life in his hands that day, and Aegon hated that, hated it more than he could voice.

Their duel still played in his mind, the swinging of their swords, the clashing of steel on steel. Aerion had always been a talented swordsman, even Aegon could acknowledge that, but he had never thought his brother would have such control over what he did. It was almost as if he could read ever movement Aegon made before he made it, and was ready with a stroke or response of his own when Aegon did eventually make the move. Aegon had been battered and bruised after their encounter, not to mention humiliated. He should have been killed but no he had been spared, and would have to live with the knowledge that Aerion, mad old Aerion had nearly killed him.

Then there was the fact that he had had to order his men to retreat as well. They had been doing well; his brother had come with nearly half of what Aegon had at his command even with the battle with the rebel reacherlords, and yet somehow had ended up winning. _It was treachery that won him that battle nothing more._ Deception had played a part, the Second sons or was it the Company of the Cat had come crawling out of the shadows and had massacred his men were they stood, leaving nothing behind, leaving them no chance to mount a defence, and their once allies in Lords Cafferen and Fell turned their cloaks and began massacring more men.

Had they remained there they would have all been killed, and not even Aerion would have been able to spare him, and so he had bellowed for them all to retreat. They had left for King’s Landing whilst the Stormlords fought each other, and killed each other, and managed to make it back to King’s Landing unmolested, though Aegon himself felt bloody tired and sore. He had spent the past moon and a half taking milk of the poppy and seeing the maester waiting for his wound to recover, and in that time he had had to brood on the betrayal of his brother.

Aerion had always been mad, Aegon still remembered when he had been a little boy how Aerion had put a knife to him and threatened to cut his balls off so that he could become a sister for him to wed. This had been before Rhae or Daella had been born, but even after that Aerion continued in his bullying of Aegon, taunts, threats all carried out to some extent, leaving Aegon with a deep rooted hatred of the brother whom he had at first looked up to. And now this same brother was wed to a Blackfyre, had sired children with her and was fighting for the Blackfyres. Aegon had been completely surprised when his father had told him this, he had thought that his brother would have had more common sense than that. The Blackfyres were the enemy not their friends.

And yet from the reports Aegon had heard on the small council, Aerion had done everything to ingrate himself in with the hierarchy of the Golden Company and the Blackfyres, he had commanded their men in battle and won acclaim for himself, and was even said to be being groomed for successor ship should Bittersteel finally die. Of his goodsister and nephews, Aegon heard little apart from the fact that they seemed to be peaceful and quiet people, who were giving his brother some form of peace and love, and that they were responsible for his ‘newfound sanity.’ It hurt Aegon knowing his brother was a traitor and that at some point he would have to fight him once more and kill him, this time he would get the better of their duels, and he would win.

He blamed the Starks and Bittersteel for corrupting his brother. Bittersteel, King Maekar had often told Aegon was a manipulative and angry man who took what he wanted regardless of the consequences, and it was likely that he had taken advantage of Aerion when he had been in Lys, alone and vulnerable and mad, so very mad. The man would end up using Aerion for as long as he was useful once he was not, he would be dead, and it did not seem as if Aerion realised that. The Starks, now they were the biggest bunch of traitors that Aegon had ever met. They professed to support the true king and were all about duty and honour and yet their king was the biggest critic of all, supporting and harbouring would be usurpers and waging war on his friend and family simply for a promise he had made to a power hungry mad man.

The problem was that Stark and the Blackfyres were winning. The Stormlands completely belonged to them now; Storm’s End held out but could send no aid for the Targaryens. The Riverlands also belonged to the Blackfyres, as for the Vale and the rest of them Aegon knew not, for he had been out of action for some time, though there were more battles to come he knew it, he could feel it in his bones.  A knock on the door drew him out of his thoughts, he called for whoever it was to enter and found himself looking at his father. King Maekar seemed to have aged ten years since last he saw him, there were lines and more around his face, and his scowl seemed fixed in place.

“How are you feeling?” his father asked him brusquely.

Aegon stretches out and says. “Better than I was yesterday Your Grace. Why do you ask?”

His father looks at him as if he has grown a second head. “Why would I not ask Aegon, do not play the fool with me. I know you were badly injured fighting Aerion, I need to know if you need any more help.”

Aegon sighs and says. “No father I am fine truly I am. But I am getting so bored cooped up here, what has been happening at court and in council? What news of the war?”

His father is silent for a long, long time and then he slumps into the chair beside Aegon’s bed and runs a hand through his hair, before saying. “It is not going well Aegon. As you know the Stormlands belong to the Blackfyres, Walder Mooton’s men were destroyed at the Battle of the Roads. The Riverlands are spent and now belong to the Blackfyres as well. We have also had word from the Westerlands, it appears the Ironborn have been raiding and pillaging along the coast, and the Lannisters are too divided to do anything about it, so command has fallen to Lord Lefford to lead the charge.”

Aegon nods feeling the hopelessness of their situation, how can they win from this position. “What of Dorne and the Reach, surely they must be marching towards the Riverlands now?”

His father shakes his head then and says. “Dorne is in the midst of its own civil war. The Yronwoods and their allies hold the passway as well as the desert sands. The Martells cannot do more than fight their own bannermen and hope for the best. The Reach...” his father seemed to hesitate there for a long moment before he spoke once more, his voice seemingly choked. “The Reach is in ruins son. Lord Tyrell fights his own brothers as well as his own bannermen. We will need to rely on the Vale if we want to end this war.”

Aegon nods feeling his gut beginning to sink. “What can I do father? How can I help?”

His father sighed then. “No Aegon there is nothing you can do now, except rest and get better. Soon enough you shall be needed out in the field. But before I leave you to your rest I need to ask you about your brother and the raid he performed.”

Aegon swallows nervously then, the fact that his brother beat him and in such a fashion still stings but he speaks then because his father needs to know what he is up against. “The Golden Company had been camped well south of where we were in Haystack Hall, and the Reacherlords who had rebelled were kept in prison cells heavily guarded ones at that. Yet I think Aerion decided to lead the raid on the camp himself, he came with only 500 men and at first we had no sign that anything was amiss, but then Ser Duncan noted that there was movement in the camp past curfew, and so we mounted our horses and battle began.” He pauses for breath and then begins speaking once more. “BY the time we were all ready for battle, the prisoners had been freed and were causing chaos in the ranks. We lost many men, and then I fought Aerion and you know what happened after that.”

His father is silent for a long time before eventually speaking. “It was most certainly a daring raid, and does seem like something Aerion would do. But the way it was carried out reeks of Bittersteel more than your brother. It was a ploy, a distraction to take the attention away from what he was doing, and it worked. Not that I blame you, your actions might have saved many thousands of lives, but still this is worrying. Daeron Stark remains in Harrenhal his strength growing by the day. I shall need to ride for the Vale, or sail by ship to reach Gulltown and move from there.”

His father seems to be talking more to himself than Aegon, and he eventually walks away and disappears somewhere else perhaps to his own solar. The next time Aegon sees his father is the day before he rides out for the Riverlands. “I need to deal with this threat now, and not let it fester. King’s Landing is in your hands until I return.” Rhae will later tell him that their father rode out with some 10,000 men from the crownlands expecting men from the Vale to join him later on the march. A moon goes by and word comes from the Reach, the rebels have been defeated there Lord Tyrell successful and beginning to march for Harrenhal. Another moon goes by and there is no word from King Maekar and Aegon begins to fear for the worst. 


	31. Floods

**Lord Rodrick Greyjoy**

The Westerlands were burning, from the coast to the mainland, the Westerlands were burning. It was a good feeling, knowing that their traditional rivals were being beaten, destroyed even. House Lannister was in disarray the succession dispute that had been roaring on in the Rock for the past three years continued to rage on, and it did not seem as if it would end at any point soon. That was for the best, without their bloody lions leading them, the lords of the Westerlands had become like a flock of headless geese, running around blind and uncertain of what to do.

Lord Lefford had taken charge of the men who had remained loyal to the Iron Throne, and they had numbered some 10,000 men, men from Pendric Hills, from Ashemark and from Golden Tooth itself. They had fought a battle against the rebel Westerlords being led by some green boy named Ser Devon Reyne. A stalemate had been reached at that battle and both sides had retreated to strategic points, only to engage in more fighting later on. Rodrick knew this, from the tavern wenches he had spent nights with during the raiding that he and his people had engaged on during the early stages of the war.

The raven had arrived from Winterfell with a royal command, and Rodrick had felt nothing but pure adrenaline at the thought of being out on the waves once more, and being able to take what was his by force and not having to cower to a single man. The Iron Fleet and the might of the Iron Islands he had called to Pyke, and from there they had descended on the Westerlands. They had sacked Fair Isle first, taking the plunder from the land and the castle and its people, paying the iron price and leaving a lasting impression, Fair Isle was a smoking ruin now. From there they had moved on to the Crag and the Banefort, destroying whatever resistance they found and taking plunder and thralls. Rodrick’s uncle Maron had perished at the Banefort though, from wounds he had taken whilst storming the castle. His uncle died a proud man, dying the way he had lived a sword in hand.

Rodrick had given his body to the waves just as he knew his uncle would have wished, and he sincerely hoped that his uncle Maron was now drinking as much mead as he could get his hands on in the drowned god’s watery halls. Command of the Iron Fleet had passed to Rodrick’s younger brother Victarion, and whilst camped out on the coast of the Banefort, they devised a plan that would give them more gold and plunder than would be possible otherwise. The plan was simple, divide the fleet in half, taking whatever ships they could steal along the way, they would sail as one around Fair Isle and then from there they would split, Rodrick taking half the fleet for Lannisport to raid the place and take its riches, Victarion for Tarbeck Hall and Crakehall and the women that were said to be there.

They were joined by ships from the north, led by Steffon Cassel, and whilst for a moment Rodrick had thought his uncle would wish to fight on the mainland, he had decided to fight on the sea. Perhaps to make sure that Rodrick did not go overboard as he had the last time there had been a war. That was fair enough, he had not spoken to his uncle in sometime, and yet the time they spent sailing for their locations was not time they spent talking. When the split occurred they were docked at Kayce, having successfully taken more plunder from the castle and left it a smoking ruin as well. The Kennings had once been Ironborn but they had fallen into the Greenlander ways and as such had suffered for their folly. But it was from Lord Kenning’s daughter that Rodrick learnt of the battle of the shapes, where the two hosts of Westerlords had met and how Lord Lefford had been slain, as well as Ser Devon Reyne and how both forces were riding with great haste towards Castamere.

That was where Rodrick said to goodbye to his uncle Steffon and the northmen he had brought with him, for they disembarked from their ships and rode out for Castamere, some 2000 strong, what difference they would make Rodrick knew not, but he knew better than to voice such doubts now. He had not heard from his uncle since, but he had heard from his brother. Tarbeck Hall had been sacked, but there had been no one there, only old men and green boys, none of the Tarbecks had been there they were surprisingly gone. His brother had promised to be more successful at Crakehall.

Rodrick himself had set sail from Kayce with other more troubling news on his mind. His wife had died of a fever the maester had written, he was a widow and he had nothing but emptiness in his heart. That was why he supposed he had taken the Kenning girl on as a thrall, something to fill the emptiness he felt. He drank as well, oh gods how he had drunk the wine from Kayce and from their supplies onboard their ships. Still nothing had felt more like suitable revenge than when, they had burnt the Lannister fleet at anchor and then proceeded to sack the city, so badly that Rodrick’s men had told him that songs were already being written about the day, from those who had been deemed worthy enough to live.

After sacking Lannisport Rodrick had killed the Kenning girl, she no longer served any purpose to him and was simply beginning to get in his way. So he had slit her throat and offered her to the Drowned God. The Lannister had still not stirred from their oversized Rock, no one knew what would happen or what their response would be, but Rodrick was not fool enough to wait and see in a place that gave the Lannisters good ground. No instead he had set sail from Lannisport and had sailed not for Crakehall but for the Shield Islands, it was time the Reach felt his wrath as well. The Shield Islands had fallen relatively easily, undermanned as they were, and so that was where Rodrick Greyjoy was now, in the Shield Islands debating what his next move should be.

He had called a council of his lords and captains, as well as summoning his brother and the rest of the Iron Fleet to Southshield where he had made his base. It had taken Victarion and his men some three weeks to reach the place, but now that they were here it was time for some serious decisions to make. “My lords, we have done well on this campaign so far. The Westerlands lie a smoking ruin behind us, the Lannisters strength at sea will not be the same for another generation at least. The Shield Islands are ours as they were before the conquest. But now we must decide what next. Do we attack the Arbor and take more plunder or go for Oldtown?”

There was silence for a moment before old Mychel Volmark spoke; the man had been raiding since before Rodrick’s own father had been born. “Oldtown is too risky my lord. The Hightowers have sent but a token of their force north with Tyrell. Besides they will be expecting us to do something like that. No I say we strike at the Arbor before the Redwyne Fleet has a chance to move from the Vale.”

Rodrick’s ears perk up at that. “Why is the Redwyne Fleet at the Vale and not at the Arbor?”

Victarion speaks then. “Begging your pardon my lord, I was going to mention it to you when we got the chance. But we received a raven whilst at Crakehall, from Prince Aegon Targaryen meant for the Rock, demanding that the Lannisters send their fleet with some men to reinforce the loyalist Vale Troops and the Redwyne men. He wrote that the royal fleet would be sailing to aid them.”

Rodrick nods and then asks. “When do you think this letter was sent?”

Victarion hesitates for a moment and then says. “I believe it was sent some two moons ago my lord. Whilst we were still at Kayce. The Royal fleet will be near the Stormlands by now if the weather has been bad, if the weather has been good they will be sailing around the arm of Dorne.”

There is some murmuring at that, and Lord Willem Orkmont speaks next his voice quavering. “Then perhaps we should take our plunder and leave for Pyke. The royal fleet has increased in strength since the last war, and we don’t have as many ships as they do, even if we had not lost some to battle and some to the weather.”

There is outcry at that with many shouts of craven and coward being levelled at Orkmont, they all die down though when old Volmark speaks once more. “We could flee back to Pyke my lord aye we could. But the royal fleet would not leave us alone, and if the Velaryons send their own fleet along as well, then we will be screwed for not even Pyke’s walls or those of the other islands could save us. No I would rather die on the sea than like a coward behind some stone and mortar.”

Rodrick hears his lords bellow their approval at that, and then raises a hand for quiet. “We shall not flee, nor shall we die more than we have to. We shall raid the Arbor and take what needs to be taken. And if the royal fleet comes calling, why we shall deal with them as well. I want scouts sent out from Southshield this very day, and I will want reports on the movement of ships in and out of the Reach until we know where the Royal Fleet is.”

With that the meeting ends and business resumes, Rodrick spends a great deal of his time planning his next move, debating which is the best way to the take the Arbor, take it, raid it and then leave it. The island itself was not big, but it had a variety of defensive walls in place that formed a sort of ring around it making it difficult to storm, without suffering severe casualties. At best, if he stormed the walls Rodrick would lose some 4,000 men at worst he would lose half his fighting force. There had to be another way into the island without so much damage happening.

He summoned old Mychel Volmark that night to discuss the Arbor, the man had gone raiding there many a time before, had smuggled goods in and out of the place during peace time. If there was anyone who would be able to get them into the Arbor without too much damage it would be Volmark. “You can’t enter through the southern gate, Redwyne is many things but an idiot he is not. He will have men watching for you there. The northern gate was always the hardest to surpass even if you wished to come in through the west. No it has to be the eastern gate.”

“The eastern gate?” Rodrick asked perplexed. “But that would mean risking exposing our ships to the watch towers of Sunflower Hall and Three Towers as well as Oldtown! Surely there must be another way?”

Volmark shook his head. “Not that I know of my lord. Not if you wish to avoid losing more lives than that island is worth. That is the only way I know.”

Rodrick sighed. “Ach, very well then. I suppose more scouts will need to be sent out. I will need to send someone to bring my brother back, we can’t have more people alerted to what we plan on doing. Lord Mychel prepare your fastest ship.”

“My lord?” Volmark sputters.

“Aye you shall be leading the scouts. I mean to make more practical use of your experience. You leave tomorrow at first light.” Rodrick replied.

* * *

 

**High Admiral Lord Beron Stark**

Some days he felt like dying. Beron Stark Lord of the Wolf’s Den and High Admiral of the narrow sea had been around for a very long time. He had seen many things in his time, he had seen his brother wed and love and die, he had seen his nephew (for that was what Daemon Blackfyre would always be) rise and fall, and now he was watching the horrors of war play out once more in Westeros. Another war was playing out in front of his very eyes, and he felt powerless to stop it from unfolding to its bloody conclusion. His nephew and King Daeron Stark had raised the north and the iron islands in full strength to fight to put Beron’s great nephew Aegon Blackfyre on that damnable iron chair.

Daeron had marched south with some 20,000 men and had originally tasked Beron with holding White Harbour from any who might try invading the north from the town. And so Beron had made sure that all the city’s defences were to a high standard and that there were no possible areas that could be breached with ease. Jonnel Manderly was of ill health as well, the fat man would soon die, and he ten years older than Beron as well, not that would be much of a loss if he was being quite honest. The man was a capable master of coin but as a lord he left much to be desired. His son Ser Rodwell Manderly who was south with Daeron would make a much more promising Lord of White Harbour and a less stubborn one as well.

As he looked out and saw the waves lapping against the shore, Beron found his thoughts returning as they so often did to his daughter Dacey. Dacey had always been a strong willed girl, more comfortable wearing breeches and wielding a sword than in dresses and with a sewing needle. Beron knew that his wife had despaired at ever making a true lady out of Dacey, and there had been times when Beron had despaired of his daughter’s strong headedness. Especially when she and Daeron had fallen in love, that had been when Beron’s fears had been heightened. His daughter was at a greater risk as Queen of the North and the Iron Islands than she had ever been as simply his daughter, now she was the focus of many plots and intrigues, not all of which Beron could stop from ever reaching Winterfell. He was old now, and he did not fully trust anyone with his children or grandchildren, life had taught him the boon of being suspicious, he simply hoped his daughter would learn that lesson before life taught it to her.

Thinking about his strong willed daughter made him think of his other children. As of late he had been doing that a lot, old age and a feeling that this would be the last war he fought in had done that to him. His son and heir Donnel was a brave man, a great soldier and would make a fine Lord once Beron’s day came, his son was wed to a Manderly girl and already had three children with her, all of whom were coming to the age of maturity themselves wed and bed already. His daughter Lyanna was Rodwell’s wife and was a strong willed lady, proud as well, fiercely so, she did more of the managing of White Harbour than her husband did. Willam had been in the Winter’s Guard but had died a hero’s death at the Bleeding Water. Jyana was lady of the neck and commanded significant respect there as well. Overall Beron was mightily proud of all of his children, even if he sometimes wishes that they were not so headstrong.

A gust of wind and his thoughts turned back to the battles that had been fought in the northern Vale so far. The letter had come in black words, attack the Vale and bleed them dry, his nephew had written and Beron had meant to do just that. With the swords of White Harbour and the surrounding area as well as from the Three Sisters, they had sailed south and landed at Coldwater, where they had taken the surprised lord by storm and easily taken his castle. From there they had marched and fought a battle now known as the snakes, against House Lynderly of Snakewood and their retainers. The battle had been fierce and had cost Beron some 2000 men but at the end of it all Lynderly was dead, his children either slain or captive, the castle surrendered and from there they moved on. The shooting down of ravens before they could truly leave had meant that the Eyrie was still unaware of their presence in its lands, and as such Beron had meant to keep it that way.

They had marched for Strongsong, the seat of House Belmore in force bringing with them more men from the north who had arrived, and had taken the castle bloodlessly, old Horton Belmore surrendering and giving them his men for no price whatsoever, a smart move it would seem. It was at Strongsong that they learnt of the stalemate in the Riverlands, of the Golden Company’s complete control of the Stormlands, of the desolation of the Westerlands, all good tidings but the really interesting news came some two weeks ago when a raven came from the Eyrie demanding that Lord Belmore summon his levies and meet Lord Arryn at the Gates of the Moon. It seemed the Iron Throne was readying itself for one final battle, and when Belmore did not reply, Arryn wrote again and again demanding a response, until finally declaring that he would march from the Eyrie to see Belmore.

His forces were but a week away when Donnel returned to inform him that it was not Lord Arryn leading them but Lord Desmond Royce. The man was a proven battle commander, and was goodfather to young Walder Frey, a confrontation should it arise would most likely prove to be quite interesting, and perhaps fitting for one last final battle for Beron.  At least that was what he thought before Ser Maron Manderly brought news back from another scouting mission.

They were in Lord Belmore’s solar discussing various things when Manderly walked in, flushed of face and slightly out of breath, it was obvious that he had ridden at some pace to get to Strongsong. “My lords, I beg your pardons but there is urgent news that you must hear.”

“What is it Ser Maron, more news with regards to Lord Royce’s host?” Beron asked patiently.

Ser Maron took a deep swig of water before speaking. “Myself and my party of twenty men were riding between here and Alyssa’s ridge when we saw the banners of Lord Royce’s host, flapping about two miles away.”

There was some murmuring at that, if Royce’s men were only two miles from Alyssa’s ridge they’d soon be upon Strongsong. “What else did you see Ser Maron? Did you espy how many men Royce has with him?” Beron asked.

Ser Maron nodded, taking another swig of water he said. “There were more men coming, we managed to capture one of their own scouts and we put him to question he admitted more men were coming.”

“Coming?” Beron asked. “From where?” Last he had heard Lord Arryn had marched west to join King Maekar in fighting Daeron at Harrenhal.

“From the Reach my lord.” Ser Maron replied. “The Redwyne fleet had been sent to assist in dealing with us. Lord Redwyne brings some 10,000 extra swords with him, to go along with the 5,000 Lord Royce has.”

There much talk at that, and Beron could see old lord Horton Belmore quivering where he sat, the man was present here simply because he was the castle’s lord no other reason would merit his presence and even then Beron resented it. “Enough my lords.” Beron eventually said. “Whilst this is not the news we would have wished for, it is the news we have received and so we must deal with it as is. Donnel how many men do we have currently?”

Donnel speaks softly as he is wont to do. “We have 10,000 men with us father. No more, no less.”

Beron sighs then and says. “Very well. We shall not fleet before any of you suggest it. We do not have the numbers to hold the north should we flee, we must give them open battle, Alyssa’s ridge should suit. We fight them and we exhaust them, we bleed them dry and they will not be able to aid Maekar Targaryen.”

Lord Mance Locke spoke then. “Surely you cannot be serious my lord. To do such a thing? That would be more harmful than beneficial for his grace’s war effort.”

Beron sighs and says. “I shall not fleet like some whipped cur, and give the reachmen an excuse to invade the north. We were tasked with invading the Vale and causing chaos, we have done so. But now the Vale and the Reach have joined to attack us, it is our duty as loyal subjects of the King of the North and Iron Islands to give everything we have until we cannot do so anymore.”

Ser Maron Whitehill, knight of Templar Village spoke then his voice gruff. “I believe Lord Beron is right. We have come to far now to have to retreat liked some whipped cur. I for one shall not retreat. Let them come I say, we shall make them bleed for every inch.”

Ser Donnel Wooldfield speaks next. “Aye, let them come. We shall show them the true strength of the north.”

Beron’s grandson Prince Jorah Stark speaks then. “I will not flee. I am a Stark of Winterfell, and I will not let these people show us where to go or where to run to. Let them bleed before we kneel.” There is much cheering at that, and as the plans are made and done with Beron pulls his grandson to the side and tells him he shall be fighting in the reserve with Ser Maron Manderly guarding him along with Rickard Karstark of the Winter’s Guard, no questions asked.

Two weeks later, Beron finds himself mounted and armoured, in his dark blue armour that he has not worn in sometime. His wolf’s head helm on his head, 10,000 men by his side. He is commanding the left as is his wont, his son Donnel commanding the right, Ser Maron Manderly leading the reserve, and the van being commanded by Lord Daemon Hornwood. Alyssa’s ridge towers behind and beneath them, like some looming giant of the kind he had heard tell of beyond the wall. The wind blows a steady breeze across the ground, and then the horns sound and battle begins. Beron draws his sword from its sheath and leads his men into the charge.

He smashed into the shields of the Valemen and began cutting men down left, right and centre. He might be old, but the adrenaline was fuelling him, giving him strength where there was none before. Cutting men down, whetting his sword with their blood, it sent a cold thrill down him. On and on it went, hack, slash, parry, and duck. He cut men down and received a few dents and bruises himself. He and his men managed to break the right of the Vale host, smashing through it like a wave crashing through the sand. Men fell to their deaths, killed or stampeded on. His sword was running red, the ground was running red, hells the sky was painted red with blood.

Hack, cut, parry, slash. The words became a mantra in his head, as he lopped a man’s head off, cut a man down, and rode another down. On and on it went, his sword cutting through men like they were no more than sacks of meat. On and on, the men were screaming for their mothers, for mercy, for their gods, for whores, it made no difference they were all dying at the end of it all. He saw the blade pierce through his armour before he felt it, and when he felt the sword and the wound, he felt sharp pain and then nothing. It was as if the adrenaline numbed the pain.

Beron Stark died on the first day of the first month of the 225th year after Aegon’s Landing, from numerous wounds taken on the chest, he bled out on the ground, known as Alyssa’s Ridge. When he closed his eyes, he was the last of Cregan Stark’s children to die. He was 77.


	32. Running With The Devil

**King Daeron Stark**

Harrenhal was grim, dark and desolate. Just as it had been the last time he had been here. The last time he had been here though, they had just learnt of Daemon’s death, and his bannermen had been riled up on adrenaline and righteous fury and so he had left Harrenhal as King of the North, the first King of the North since Torrhen Stark had bent the knee all those many years ago. Now, he was here and the war was still raging, and this time it really did seem as if they might win. He could taste victory in the air, the Riverlords were all either spent or fighting for them. The Battle of High Heart had seen the Tully line brought close to extinction, with its Lord, heir and most of Lord Brynden’s sons slain during the battle, only a babe was left as the Lord of Riverrun now. Lords Darry, Bracken and Blackwood had fled back to their respective castles after the battle, broken and scared. Houses Shawney, Lothston, Smallwood, Butterwell, Ryger and Mooton commanded the majority of the Riverlands host in Harrenhal at the moment.

Daeron’s own men were becoming restless, he knew this, he could feel it in the air, the feeling that the war was just passing them by. They had been camped in Harrenhal now for some five moons, as the war raged on in the Westerlands and the South. The Westerlands were a smoking ruin, the Lannisters had been brought to their knees by Daeron’s nephew Lord Rodrick Greyjoy, and now the Reach was also being brought to its knees though Lord Gormon Tyrell continued to lead his men north to meet up with Maekar’s forces. Dorne was engaged in its own civil war, Lord Artos Yronwood, Daeron’s nephew had led a rebellion joined by Lords Gargalen, Toland, Holt and many others and House Martell was currently struggling through many a battle. So they would not be joining Maekar’s army.

The Stormlands were now all firmly under the Golden Company’s control, the last piece of resistance provided by Lord Grandison had been crushed at the battle of the Shadow, where the men of the Golden Company led by Maekar’s own son Prince Aerion had smashed Grandison’s own host to pieces and slain Ser Robar Baratheon the heir to Storm’s End. The Baratheons had not been able to join in the war effort, and that Daeron suspected might very well cost Maekar his throne. For the Stormlords were by nature a very fractious and argumentative lot, and only seemed to truly unite when led by a Baratheon, Lord Lyonel Baratheon was old and ageing and yet he commanded more of a presence than his son had, at least that was what the men of the company said. The Stormlords had appeared broken and divided in their unity whenever the company had fought them, and as such they had paid the price for it now.

The Golden Company had arrived in Harrenhal some two moons ago , navigating round King’s Landing and the remaining Targaryen strong holds through marching from Summerhall in small groups of men. Daeron had been surprised to see his old friend Aegor Rivers, the man had been strong and whole the last time Daeron had seen him some thirty years ago, and now he looked old and haggard. There was much for them to discuss it turned out apart from the war. Daeron had learnt of his friend’s marriage to a Volanteene noblewoman in order to gain more money and men for the company, they had five children now, two of whom were here serving as squires for men of the company. His friend also informed him of the alliance that the company had made with the Company of the Cat and the Second sons, and how these extra men might prove useful against Maekar’s army. “They fight like the savages they are Daeron. Maekar and his men won’t be able to handle that.” Aegor had said. Daeron had seen some of these men fight in the yard, and he had to admit that he agreed with his friend’s assumption.

Another thing that made Daeron feel slightly more relieved that his friend and the Golden Company were here was the presence of what he felt would be the ultimate weapon, war elephants. Tried and tested in a hundred battles according to Bittersteel, a gift from his goodfather. The elephants would provide more of a fear factor than anything else against Maekar’s men, scaring and spooking their horses, and perhaps also scaring the men themselves, for it was not often that one came face to face with an elephant.

The time they had spent in Harrenhal had also allowed Daeron the chance to better know his nephews. Daemon had had seven sons by Delena Strickland and though two of them were buried in the ground now and one was still in Winterfell, three had come with Aegor to fight for their nephew. Haegon, Monterys and Daeron Blackfyre. All three were tall strapping lads with their father’s build, though Haegon reminded Daeron of Maekar a lot in his attitude and outlook on life, a grim and serious man. Monterys was more carefree though a demon with a sword in his hand, and Daeron’s own namesake was quick witted and a sound tactician, the leader of the Golden Company’s archers he would have to be.

As for Maekar’s son, Aerion Brightflame was a skilled soldier, and a smart man but he was also short of patience and quick to anger. Daeron could see some hints of madness in him, and sometimes he wondered whether or not the man would be a liability when it came to the actual fighting. Aegor though was quick to reassure him. “He is good in battle Daeron. He fights like a man possessed. Trust me; we have nothing to worry about.” Aerion did not spend that much time in the training yard, preferring to spend it alone closeted with maps and his close friends. Still the recent news they had received would prove ample opportunity to see just how tactically minded Aerion truly was.

Daeron had made his rooms in the Kingspyre Tower and as such the meeting of the important commanders were held in his solar. The lords who had gathered in the solar apart from Daeron himself included, Aegon Blackfyre his great nephew and goodson,  his son Prince Aegor Stark, his cousin Edwyle Stark, the lord commander of the Winter’s Guard Theon Stark, Ser Rodwell Manderly heir to White Harbour and wed to Daeron’s cousin Lyanna, old Hothar Umber the Lord of Last Hearth a veteran of a hundred battles, Lord Cregan Dreadstark and his son Willam both Daeron’s brother and nephew respectively, Lord Ethan Glover, Lord Mors Karstark as well as Lords Ryger, Smallwood, Butterwell, Mooton and Goodbrook. Aegor was present as were Haegon and Aerion and Ser Robb Reyne. “My lords,” Daeron began. “We have received some very interesting news from our scouts this morn. It would appear that Maekar Targaryen is but five miles away from Harrenhal. It seems he has been joined by Lord Tyrell’s van as well, led by Tyrell himself. I would hear your views on what we should do. Do we march out now and deal with them or do we sit tight here and wait.”

There was some murmuring at that and then Lord Umber spoke his voice still loud and strong despite his old age. “We take the attack to them. Let the dragon know the wrath of the north, we’ve spent too long in this bloody castle Your Grace. The men need action and they need it soon.”

Lord Karstark was quick to voice his agreement. “Aye Your Grace. Let us wage war on the bloody Targaryens, we have waited for too long now, we are not getting any younger sitting here. Let’s fight them on the ground we choose and let’s crush them and be done with it.”

There was some cheering at that, but then Aegon spoke up, and his voice was calm and sedate more like his mother Barbery than his father. “Whilst that is a nice thought my lords, it would not do to rush into anything. Set the terrain you say Lord Karstark, but if we leave Harrenhal we shall be fighting on ground that Maekar sets, not the other way around. Wait I say, wait and then we should move.”

Edwyle seemed to agree. “What King Aegon says makes sense my lords. We should not leave Harrenhal just yet, and bleed ourselves dry fighting a host that is smaller than ours when a bigger host comes down from the Vale.”

There is more murmuring at that and Daeron asks his cousin. “How many men Edwyle?”

His cousin is silent for a moment and then replies. “My sources state that Lord Jonothor Arryn is leading some 15,000 men down from the Bloody Gate as we speak, most likely to hit us from the rear if we move from this spot now.”

There is silence for a moment and then Aegor speaks. “The Vale has finally stirred itself you say? Daeron has there been any word from your uncle Beron as to what he has managed to do?”

Daeron shakes his head. “No, last we heard he was camped at Strongsong. We have had no further word about him or any of the other men we sent with him. But it makes no difference, it is clear that with Lord Jonothor finally stirring from the Eyrie, that they mean to plan a trap for us. Maekar means to lead us out to face him and then he will push us against Harrenhal and the Vale’s men will be the things that break us. We cannot allow that to happen.”

“What do you mean for us to do then Your Grace?” Ser Rodwell asks.

Daeron is silent for a moment before he replies. “We shall wait within Harrenhal’s walls for the time being, but we shall also continue to send scouts out southwards, and now eastwards. Once we know when both hosts are but two miles from the castle we shall stir ourselves and we shall fight, and we shall win.”

With that the meeting ends, and a few weeks later they receive the news they have all been waiting for, Maekar and his host of men numbering some 20,000 strong are near the Old God’s ridge, and Lord Arryn and his host of some 15,000 men are some two miles near Darry. With this in mind, Daeron decides to call the council together once more where the battle plans are finalised. With the Golden Company and the companies of the cat and second sons they have a total of 45,000 it is decided that this will be split into two hosts one which will be overall commanded by Daeron himself and shall march south to face Maekar, and the other will be commanded by Aegor and will march north to fight the Valemen. Daeron’s host sees him commanding the Van, Ser Rodwell commands the left, old Hothar Umber commands the right and Daeron’s son Aegor commands the reserve.

They leave Harrenhal at the break of dawn, marching at a quick pace 25,000 men marching with him and his son and his great nephew. They manage to surprise Maekar’s host with the sun rising, and that gives them an early advantage. Hacking and slashing through the men in his path, Daeron fights like something out of a song, cutting men down like they are no more than sacks of meat, meant for the slaughter. Soon enough Ice is stained red with the blood of many foes, bodies litter the ground, and on it goes.

Hacking and slashing, ducking and diving. Daeron receives a few cuts and bruises as he charges through the ranks of enemy soldiers but mostly the enemy is lucky to even get a scrape onto him. He cuts down roughly ten men bearing the arms of House Darklyn, as well as a knight of the Kingsguard before coming face to face with his old friend Maekar.

* * *

 

**King Maekar I Targaryen**

The war had raged for two years now, and its effect on Westeros was more damning than any other war other than perhaps the Dance of Dragons had been. Fields were smoking ruins, crops were nonexistent, the smallfolk hid behind their thatched homes and stared at Maekar and his men with the sort of loathing that Maekar had often seen reserved for his grandfather. The war was costing Westeros more than just gold and men, it was costing them the chance to ever have a lasting peace. The Targaryen rule looked to be undermined for good now, and it had fallen to him to once more rescue it from the abyss.

The war had been going badly for House Targaryen and its allies very, very badly. The Westerlands had lost much of their gold and the things that had made them a rich kingdom in the first place to the Ironborn reavers. The Lannisters themselves had not really been able to stop the Ironborn from wreaking havoc, embroiled as they were in their own crisis and so it had fallen to Lord Lefford, an old man whose fighting days were behind him to lead the charge against the rebel Westerlords and the northmen who had joined them. Maekar knew there had been two big battles fought in the Westerlands between the two forces, one at Pendric Hills which had ended in a stalemate and one at Castamere which had ended with Lord Lefford dead and skewered and half the other combatants dead as well.

The Ironborn had moved on from the Westerlands and had taken the Shield Islands, and had been looking as if they would sail up the Mander for Highgarden, something that Lord Tyrell had been seriously worried about. He had begged Maekar to allow him to send some portion of his men back to the Reach to defend it from the Ironborn, loath as he was to do it, Maekar had refused the man telling him in plain and simple terms that there was nothing that could be done now. Those men left to defend the Reach would have to do just that, without any extra aid. They had been camped at Antlers at the time and so Maekar had sent word to Egg, instructing him to send the Royal and the Velaryon fleets to the Reach to deal with the Ironborn, meanwhile the Redwyne fleet had sailed from the Arbor to deal with the northmen in the Vale.

They were still camped at Antlers when news came of Beron Stark’s last stand at the Battle of Alyssa’s ridge. Beron Stark and his 10,000 northmen had faced off against 5,000 Valemen and 12,000 Reachmen commanded by Desmond Royce and Garrett Redwyne. They had not fled back to their ships as Maekar had thought they would have done, instead they had held their ground and had fought bravely and admirably, according to the report that Aegon gave him in his letter. Beron Stark’s 10,000 northmen had been slaughtered but they had taken a fair few of the men they had fought with them including Royce and Redwyne themselves. Leaving the Vale free of invaders but with markedly less man power than before the war had begun.

Still at least that was one victory they could claim to have won. The Riverlands belonged to the Blackfyres as did the Stormlands. Ser Robar Baratheon had been slain trying to prevent the Golden Company from exiting the Stormlands, his father old Lyonel Baratheon was now close to death’s door and soon enough a question would arise about the Baratheon succession, at least it would if any of them managed to survive this. Maekar still rued the fact that he had not anticipated the Golden Company’s invasion of the Stormlands. If he had, perhaps things might have gone differently; the Baratheons most certainly would have made a difference in the fighting that had gone on in their kingdom. Without their presence to unite them, the Stormlords had become fractious and had divided into different camps, with those who had not sided with the Blackfyres being wiped out completely and utterly.

Dorne was broken as well. The Yronwoods were so very close to achieving something they had dreamed of since the days of Nymeria’s conquest. According to the reports that Maekar received from his son at court, of the five battles fought in Dorne between the two sides, the Yronwoods had won three and the Martells just one, with one the first battle at the Scourge ending with both sides retreating. Maekar wished he could help them, but alas he could spare no more man power for them than he could for the Reach. It was all so frustrating and aggravating and yet there was nothing he could do. And so he had ordered a war council to be convened, and so here he was. The Lords gathered included, Lord Tyrell, Lord Tarly, Lord Rowan, Lord Darklyn, Lord Hollard, Lord Rosby, Lord Massey and Lord Celtigar.  All apart from Tyrell were experienced men. “My lords,” Maekar began. “You know why we are here. The rebels sit in Harrenhal and a host led by Lord Jonothor Arryn is descending on them from the east. But our scouts report that there has been movement within the camp and we must discuss it.”

Old Lord Gyles Rosby was the first to speak. “What sort of movement Your Grace?”

Maekar sighed and looked down at the report the scout had given him. “Men flying the banner of House Ryger have been seen heading southwards towards us, they are atleast another day’s ride from us.”

There was some murmuring at that and then Lord Tyrell spoke his voice cocky sounding. “Pah, it seems Ryger has lost the will to fight then Your Grace. Perhaps he will be offering us some inside tips of the divisions that are plaguing the rebels.”

Maekar did not think so, but it was Lord Denys Darklyn who voiced the doubt. “I do not think so Your Grace. Ryger has been an enemy to the crown for many years. I believe this might simply be a ruse to lull us into a false sense of security. I say we capture the man and question him thoroughly before marching.”

“Aye, my lord of Duskendale has the right of it. “ Lord Matthew Massey said, his big head nodding. “We must capture this scout and see what he has to say before we march.”

And so when the scout was captured Maekar used all the techniques he could think of to question him but the man did not answer any of the questions asked of him, and instead died with some ravings on his lips of the Winter Dragon and the true king being seated on the throne soon enough. That left them with a dead end, and so with much frustration and not wanting to go into the war blind, Maekar ordered the men to march, and march they did, until they reached Old God’s Ridge where they set up camp for the night, Maekar plagued by nightmares could not sleep and it was lucky that he did, for he heard the sounds of hooves and battle before anyone else did.

By the time he was dressed and armoured in the same black armour he had worn at Redgrass, he could see the flames and hear the screams of dying men. So it seemed the northmen had struck early. Most likely Daeron’s work. His horse was saddled and ready by the time he strode out of his tent, his mace in hand, Ser Oberyn Dayne and Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard with him. They rode fast as they could toward where the fighting was along the way they passed, Ser Morris Waters the former master of arms and he looked at them with bloody eyes a wound through his chest. “Northmen,” he stammered. “Thousands of them.” He fell down and died there right in front of Maekar, and so the battle began.

The campsite is burning, the northmen seem to be winning when Maekar arrives with some 1,000 men who were camped near him. This has Daeron written all over it, the surprise attack at night, the burning the screams of the dying men, all of it stinks of his friend, and Maekar feels his gut churn. He raises his mace high into the air and then spurs his horse on, his part in the battle begins. He swings his mace right and left, bringing crushing blows down on those who seek to attack him. He swings and swings, clearing a path through the northmen and others who are attacking his men and his kingdom.

Soon enough his armour is covered in blood, not his though thankfully, that of his enemies. His mace is covered in it as well, there are many bodies littered around the ground, the sound of steel on steel fills the air, as does the shouts and screams of the dying men. He swings his mace at a man bearing the arms of House Lothston, crushing the man’s skull, he swings again knocking a man off his horse and then swings once more, killing the man. He feels a sharp pain in his side some bastard must of got him when he was not looking.

He looks up through his helm at the sound of steel on steel and a wolf’s head helm charging through the throng of men and bodies. Daeron, that’s who it is. Maekar watches enthralled as man after man comes across the Winter Dragon only to be slain and cast aside like they are nothing more than meat. Ser Roland Crakehall is the last person to come in Daeron’s way, and Maekar watches as one of the finest swordsman in the realm is cut down by his friend, as if he were nothing more than a fly. Soon enough, Daeron is in front of Maekar mounted on a black war horse, his dark blue armour dented in some places and covered in mud and blood.

No words are exchanged between the two friends, they merely stare at each other for a long time as the battle rages around them, then something happens to break their trance and their duel begins. Steel met steel and sparks began to fly as both men pushed hard at one another, determined to break each other but not so sure whether they were fighting to kill. They broke apart only to meet again, more sparks began to fly, and this time when they broke apart Daeron managed to snick Maekar’s armour, opening up another wound. They met once more steel on steel, clanging against one another; Maekar broke through Daeron’s defences and managed to dent his armour.

They fight once more, Daeron this time pushing Maekar’s mace aside and slashing at his armour, denting it and deepening the wound he had opened. Daeron takes advantage of that and continues pummelling Maekar with blow after blow, some of which he manages to deflect with his mace, others he is not so quick to block and he ends up with more cuts and bruises on his arms and chest, and more dents in his armour. Maekar can feel the strength beginning to leave his body, his mind is going hazy, but somehow he manages to find the strength to push back against his friend even if it just by a little bit.

He swings his mace hard, knocking Daeron on the chest, and then whilst his friend is still winded he swings his mace once more and knocks him on the mouth. He swings again but Daeron blocks his swing, and pushes the mace from his hands, he can see the end now, he prays it will be swift, he closes his eyes, but then suddenly he is no longer on his horse and instead he is on the ground. He looks up to see, his horse lying dead to the side, and Ser Oberyn Dayne fighting Daeron. He tries to stand up, but finds that he cannot, and so he watches horrified as Ser Oberyn Dayne the sword of the morning and a knight of his Kingsguard fights Daeron Stark and in three or four swings is a bloody mess on the floor. Maekar sees Daeron turn to face him, and for a moment they lock eyes before his friend shakes his head and rides on.

 


	33. Watercolour

**Aegon Blackfyre**

He’d been winning the war that much he knew. The Westerlands were burning, the Ironborn had done their job just as his uncle Daeron said that they would. The Lannisters embroiled in their own succession crisis had done nothing when Steffon Cassel had led men to aid the rebel Westerlords against Lord Lefford, they had done nothing when Lannisport had burned and the Green lion had fled with his tail between his legs. Nothing, the Lannisters had done nothing and so the Ironborn had moved onto the Reach, capturing the Shield Islands and subduing them in his name before they had gone onto attack the Arbor. At first Aegon had questioned the wisdom of such a move, but when the news had reached him that they had made off with most of the riches the Arbor had to offer as well as burning half the royal fleet he had been well pleased.

Then there had been the battles he had fought in. High Heart had been his first actual taste of battle, and it had been something that he had not enjoyed but something that had helped show that he was not a weakling. Something that many had assumed simply because he preferred books to swords like his father and grandfather before him. High Heart had seen him slay many a lord, lords who should have realised the errors of their ways and bent the knee to him. Their deaths still weighed heavily on his mind at times. Their dying screams still ringing in his ears when he slept and Daena could not provide any comfort. From High Heart they had moved to Harrenhal where they had spent five moons sitting, planning and waiting. Whilst the lords of the north had become frustrated with the way things were going, Aegon had sat in discussion with his uncle and planned all that needed to be done and what needed to be said was said.

The Golden Company had joined them as well as the Company of the Cat and the Second Sons and Aegon had been confident that they could win. When they received news of the host coming up from the crownlands, Aegon had smiled, Maekar Targaryen had fallen into the trap that had been set, it mattered not that Lord Jonothor Arryn was leading another host from the Vale to deal with them as well. The Golden Company and the Company of the Cat was sent out along with some other northmen and rivermen to deal with them, and that battle had gone well from what Aegon had been told.

His own battle, at the Old God’s Edge, had been something that he knew would be made into song. He had fought with all his might and it seemed to him as if he had become unstoppable. All those hours in the practice yard were coming in handy as he ducked and dived through men, and cut them down as if they were nothing more than flies. Swinging Blackfyre as if he was a man possessed, something that come over him, some outer force had come forth and taken refuge within him and was filling him with the strength he needed. He had cut a bloody path through the traitors, the Targaryen men cutting through Darklyn, Rosby and Hollard men, swatting them away as if they were no more than flies.

He had clashed with a man of the Kingsguard, Ser Steffon he would later learn was his name, a good fight it had been. Both men had swung their swords, and met in a clash of steel multiple times, swinging, hacking and slashing at one another, cutting through each other’s defences multiple times. Both men had been exhausted, battered and bruised and yet they continued to fight. Aegon using the strength he had been given to continue swinging, to continue rising his sword up in the air and bring it crashing down. He had eventually come good of the duel a sharp thrust piercing through Ser Steffon’s armour above his heart, the wound Blackfyre opened made the man slump in his horse and bleed out. Aegon rode on.

The fight continued, around him men had been fighting, screaming and dying. Carnage, it seemed to him as if they were winning, as if the Targaryen host would break and victory would finally be theirs. Aegon had cut down two men who had come charging towards him, as he had been riding through the throng of battle. Blackfyre had been stained red the ground had been drinking up the blood, like some sort of hungry deprived man in the streets of Flea Bottom he had heard of. And then the arrow had hit him. It had come out of nowhere, one minute he had been charging through the throng, his sword raised high, and then the next he had woken up in a tent somewhere north of Harrenhal, closer to the Twins than where battle had happened.

When he had woken up, he had thought he had been captured, and then his uncle had come into focus. Daeron Stark looked gaunt and angry, and when he spoke his voice shook with barely controlled rage. It turned out that Aegon had been struck by two arrows, both of which had hit his helm with such force he had been thrown from his horse. When his guards had seen him lying motionless on the ground, they had feared him dead, and so not wanting the Targaryens to get his body, they had dismounted and slung him onto his horse and strapped him down, only to find him unconscious not dead, but the damage had been done. Not seeing their king amongst them, the men had begun to break and were fleeing north.

Aegon’s uncle had seen his men fleeing and had feared the worst as well and so he had ordered the rest of the men to end the slaughter and retreat. “We knew not whether you would survive. But I would not let them take you.”His uncle had said. And so the northern army had left the Battle of Old God’s Ridge and had fled north marching at a furious pace until the Twins came into sight, where they had made camp until Aegon had been fit enough to ride once more. And so he had come back to Winterfell not as the victorious king he had envisioned but rather as a man who had been beaten by some freak accident.

It had been a year since then and yet it still angered him thinking about it. To be so close to victory, only to be brought down by some godsforsaken arrows, that just happened to be hurtling towards him? That was the most aggravating thing about it all, if not for those two arrows he likely would be sitting on the Iron Throne right now. But no, he was in Winterfell a defeated but alive prince, still in exile and it angered him. It angered his uncle, and great uncle as well, he knew and it angered the northern lords who had given much for him and his cause. The only positives to come out of this was that the Targaryen strength was much weakened the war had done that to them, no demands would be made of the rebels now and the fact that Jonothor Arryn had died at the Battle of the Roads and his men had been scattered like the wind.

The Golden Company had retreated back to Winterfell with the northern host, some 5,000 men remaining from the 10,000 that had fought the Valemen. His great uncle Ser Aegor Rivers and his uncle Haegon had been the commanders that had returned with them as well. His uncle Monterys slain by Lord Corbray, his uncle Daeron Blackfyre killed in the retreat. Both men had seemed remorseful and angry, but had both promised that the next time they would win and he would sit the throne. It did nothing for the anger he felt, his uncles had left for White Harbour some moons ago and were likely back in Essos now plotting some new plan of action, but Aegon still felt helpless.

His wife and children were the only source of comfort Aegon had in his otherwise torturous day. Sweet Daena who he loved with all his heart, she had put aside her doubts and fears and was spending more time with him trying to bring him back to the person he had been before the war, and whilst he loved her all the more for it, he just couldn’t do it, he needed something to focus his anger on and his wife and children were not it. His children, gods that was a strange feeling knowing he was a father, Jaehaerys, Alysanne and Aegor all of whom were quickly growing up before his very eyes. It was a scary thought. Jaehaerys was already showing signs of being a leader, he was very bossy when playing with his siblings and cousins, and Alysanne seemed to be the only tempering influence for him in terms of that. His sister Rhaenrya had wed the heir to Pyke and had just recently given birth to her own child, a son she had named Aemon in their father’s honour. His brothers, Daeron, Viserys and Quentyn all displayed the same sort of skill in martial arms as he had and all in all the family was doing well.

Still it seemed as if the gods were not done tormenting him yet. His mother Barbery had died suddenly in her sleep just over a week ago, there had been no warning, no indication that she was unwell, she had just gone to sleep one night and never woken up again. Aegon had been the one to light the torch that burned her body, had been the one to say the words that needed saying, and had been the one to intern his mother’s ashes in the urn that would lay beside his father’s. All of this he had done in a numb state of mind, there was so much pain that he did not want to face, so much anger that needed to be exorcised and yet there was no way for him to do that, without negatively affecting his family or even his cause.

That was why he was in his uncle’s solar now. King Daeron Stark, a formidable man, a man Aegon was intimidated and inspired by in equal turns, it seemed had sensed his restlessness and had summoned him to talk about it. His uncle was sat by the fire staring into space, but then when Aegon coughed he turned round and smiled wearily. “Forgive me Aegon, my mind wanders often these days. You must be wondering why I have asked you here when there is no pressing need.” Aegon nods. “Well there is. I have noticed your restlessness and your frustration about the whole war have become more noticeable over the past few months. I must tell you now that brooding on the matter will not make it any better only action will, and yet we must wait for the right time before we strike again otherwise we will not have the support that we should have.”

“What would you have me do then uncle?” Aegon asked his frustration coming through. “My brothers are away visiting White Harbour, Rhaenrya is at Pyke and Daena is busy with the children. I cannot ride anywhere without having one of the damnable Winter’s Guard follow me, and I cannot go into the practice yard without memories of the war entering my head. What am I do to then, if not pace?”

His uncle sighs then, and the grief and the worries of a kingdom show on his face for a brief moment. “I am going hunting in the Wolfswood with some members of the court and other important lords. You will be joining us, and you shall exorcise your demons there and then. When we come back from the hunt, you will not brood nor will you pace. You are a dragon not some caged animal. It is time you acted like one.”

* * *

 

**Lord Domeric Bolton**

The war had ended, not with a Targaryen or a Blackfyre claimant‘s blood staining the ground but with the forces of the north breaking and fleeing. It appeared that Aegon Blackfyre, the boy who was being sent to claim the Iron Throne, had been knocked unconscious by the sting of two arrows hitting his helm, that and that alone had halted the progress of the northmen and the rebel riverlords as they pushed for King’s Landing. It seemed as if those two arrows had been a godsend for if they had not been sent, then it was very likely that King Maekar would have died, and the whole army of the Targaryens would have been broken and destroyed.

As no such thing had happened, Domeric was relieved, for it meant that his contribution to the war would actually be recognised. He had lived in the south for twenty years now, ever since the failed rebellion led by his father had caused him to flee with his tail between his legs like some whipped cur. His father and two older brothers were dead and had been rotting in the ground for some time now, but Domeric, Domeric had done all he could to make sure he earnt himself a place at the Targaryen’s side.

Daeron the Good had named him Lord of Harroway’s Town and with his marriage to Lysa Darry, he had some claim on the Darry lands. His wife was a nice and simple lady, who was good looking and knew how to run a household, she had borne him six children, four boys and two girls. The eldest of his sons Lyman had been the king’s own squire before being knighted on the battlefield during the war. His eldest daughter Melissa was married to the heir of Casterly Rock, and as such he had powerful connections.

It had taken time though for him to build such connections, hard work and a tireless devotion to dealing with the bandits and other issues that might have plagued his overlords in House Tully, had gotten him into their good graces and then his performance in the last two wars had earnt him recognition from the crown and just reward. In this war, it had been he who had commanded the King’s left side, leading the charge that had nearly caused the northmen to break and flee in the first place, it had been his plans that had seen Lord Jonnel Manderly slain, and his sons killed as well. It had been he who had suggested to the King that the Redwyne fleet be sent to the Vale and that the Royal fleet be sent to destroy the Ironborn.

The King had recognised his contributions to the war and had given him the lands striped from Houses Shawney and Goodbrook as part of his reward, the other part had been to name his son to the Kingsguard, his second son Beron was now Ser Beron Bolton of the Kingsguard replacing Ser Roland Crakehall. Such rewards had made Domeric feel truly honoured but he had been surprised when the King had announced that some of the lands striped from House Lothston would now belong to him as well. That had been unexpected, what with the Targaryens hold on the Iron Throne being weakened by this war, he had not thought that the King would risk burning bridges with the Lothstons. But it did seem as if the Lothstons themselves had burnt those bridges. Lord Armond Lothston had been hung from the gallows once the northmen had fled, his son and heir killed during the fighting. The new lord of Harrenhal was but a child, a child who was being fostered in King’s Landing and as the last of his line would more than likely be more loyal to the crown than any of his forbearers if he wished to inherit his ancestors seat.

Still despite the honours the king had given him, he could not help feeling that perhaps he ought to have been given Harrenhal. He had done more for the king than any of the Crownlords, and the Stormlords were only now beginning to break the hold the Blackfyres had held over them for the duration of the war, House Tully had failed once more to live up to is status as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and thus the Riverlands had bled during the war once more. Domeric could not help but feel as if perhaps he should have pressed the king to make him Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Paramount of the Trident, for he was certain he would have been able to do a better job of keeping the Riverlords in line than House Tully had been doing as of late.

He was not however, willing to push the good fortune he had found under King Maekar any further. He did not wish to alienate or anger the king, for risk of perhaps harming his son’s chances of becoming a great lord one day. And besides there was always the burning in the back of his heart for a return home, back to the Dreadfort where he would be able to deal with the Starks once and for all, and though such a thing seemed unlikely now, he did not wish to alienate the Royal family with his demands, when if he continued to remain in their good books he could ask for certain services or at least his descendents could in the future.

Still when the King had offered him the post of master of laws on the small council he had been most honoured and willing to accept. And from the council sessions he had sat on since the war had ended, it had become clear that he had been wise in accepting. The council was divided and there were many within it whose loyalty was suspect at best, treacherous at worst. King Maekar trusted very few people though he often listened to the advice of his hand and his son, so Domeric had taken to listening very closely whenever the two spoke.

Today was one such occasion, gathered as they were in the small council chamber. Discussing the issue of the Blackwoods. Master of Whispers Michael Stone spoke in that sultry tone of his. “My sources report that the Brackens are the ones behind the unrest of the smallfolk in Blackwood lands. They hope to gain the lands they believe the Blackwoods stole from them in the Age of Heroes by doing so.”

The king looked unimpressed. “Do the Brackens have any actual reasons for causing such strife in the realm? Or do they simply wish for more land?”

Stone had that annoying smile on his face once more. “They are using the fact that the Blackwoods are followers of the Old Gods and that they did not do all they could at High Heart to protect Lord Tully, as their reason for trying to seize the Blackwood lands.”

There was silence for a moment, as all looked at Domeric, his family had followed the Old Gods in the north but they were in the south now and so followed the Seven, Domeric had never believed in Gods though be they trees or statues. So he merely said. “Well then they have a very good justification for taking the Blackwood lands do they not? After all we have learnt what sort of traitors the Old Gods breed in the Starks. Why should we have Old God followers in the south when we can have them removed and dealt with?”

The King looked at him then and asked. “What do you mean Lord Bolton?”

Domeric kept his face expressionless as he spoke. “Why interfere in the issue between two old age rivals Your Grace? Let them fight each other and bleed each other dry, and when the dust has settled House Blackwood will be done and finished and House Bracken’s power will be diminished. They might hold extra land, but they will have to work to consolidate their hold over it. And that is where they will need to work with you Your Grace.”

“Lord Bolton speaks the truth Your Grace. House Tully is not getting involved in the conflict and neither should the throne. It would look bad if you were to support one side over the other.”  Lord Steffon Piper said.

The King’s son spoke then his voice laced with concern. “You would allow the conflict to continue and cost the lives of thousands of innocent people my lords? Surely after one war has just finished we do not need yet another war on our hands.”

The boy had a good heart but there were somethings he was ignorant of or maybe naive was a better word. Domeric smiled at the man and said softly. “Aye innocents will die, but they will die regardless of whether or not the throne get’s involved my prince. It is better to let the two old age rivals fight it out, and the winner will keep their heads and their lands, whilst the loser will either be dead or fled. The throne cannot afford to get involved it is better this way.”

The Prince did not seem happy with his words but the king merely nodded. “That makes sense. Very well we shall let events unfold naturally; however, if it looks like it will spread beyond their little conflict, I will get involved. I will not have another rebellion on my hands. Now what other news is there for us to discuss?”

Master of Ships Lord Andros Celtigar spoke then, his voice weedy and waspish. “The war galleys that you asked to be built are complete and ready for inspection Your Grace. All 50 of them should be fit to sail into battle and for other voyages.”

The King nodded and then asked. “Has there been any sighting of Velaryon?”

Lord Velaryon had disappeared along with ten of his war galleys after sailing from the Driftmark for the Arbor, no one had seen him since and no one knew where he had gone. Michael Stone shook his head. “No Your Grace. But my sources continue looking.”

The King nodded and then said. “Soon enough the Driftmark will have to be set to rights. I will not leave that place unattended or accounted for. Now what more news do you have for me?”

Grand Maester Geribald spoke then. “Your Grace, Lord Robert has finally passed on. I did the best I could to treat his wounds and ease his pain, but they were to deep and severe for me to completely heal.”

Lord Robert Darklyn the master of coin, a fickle man and proud as well, he had fought at the Old God’s Ridge, wounded by Aegor Stark and dead now, most likely from poison. The king nodded and then said. “Very well then, Aegon write to Darklyn’s son and offer him our condolences, and also write to Lord Tyrell and tell him that the position of master of coin is now his for the taking.” Domeric saw the king’s son nod and then scratch down what it was he was asked to do.

Stone spoke next. “There has been news from across the narrow sea Your Grace. Ser Robb Reyne has died, and Bittersteel has moved back to Tyrosh.”

There was some silence, the death of one of the black dragon’s finest commanders was a significant thing, it meant the old guard was dying out and becoming weak. The king nodded and then said. “Write to Castamere and inform them of this. Whatever the man was, his children deserve to know.”

With that the council meeting comes to an end though the king asks him to stay behind. Once the last of the other members has closed the door behind them, the king looks him straight in the eye and says. “Should the Blackwoods die and the Brackens lay claim to the lands, you shall split it with them half and half, and then your third son shall become Lord of Raventree Hall. I do not trust the Brackens, they will turn soon enough.”

Domeric bows, and leaves it seems his rewards keep on growing.


	34. Somewhere In Time

**King Daeron Stark**

Three wars, three defeats. That thought was something that stung as well as motivated Daeron Stark, King in the North and the Iron Islands. He had fought in three wars to seat the rightful Kings of Westeros on the Iron Throne, and each time somehow his objective had been denied to him. Daemon died at Redgrass, his own misjudgement cost them Aemon at the Weeping Water, and some freak arrows managed to cost them at Old God’s Ridge though Aegon still lived. It seemed as if the gods were testing Daeron, through the heartbreak and the anger, testing him to see if he would hold true to his oath, the oath he had sworn before the heart tree, to see one of his brother’s descendants on the Iron Throne. Others who had sworn to the cause were either dead or had given up, Robb Reyne had died in exile his son Lord Terrence Reyne had bent the knee to the Targaryens and the fact his own son and heir was a hostage to the throne meant he would not rise up in rebellion. House Osgrey, had been hit badly by the wars their lord Addam Osgrey slain, the house looking as if it might face severe recompense.

Of the old guard only he and Aegor were left and Aegor was in exile across the narrow sea in Tyrosh planning and plotting more moves and invasions. The end of the third Blackfyre war had seen Daeron and his men return home, beaten and scarred but not broken, not yet. The memories of Daemon still remained in the minds of his bannermen, but still his lords wanted reasons and justifications for why they should continue to fight for a throne they cared nothing about. Daeron had told him his honest beliefs, that they owed it to Daemon and to themselves, to their sons and daughters and all those who were yet to be born that they continue to fight to put a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne, the Targaryen dynasty was weakening by the year, and soon the moment would be right. He had promised not to march south again until an opportunity that was too good to miss arose, that had been four years ago now, and so far nothing had arisen.

Oh there was talk of unrest and unhappiness in the south, but Daeron knew that none of those southerners would risk rebelling not yet anyway; certain things had to be in motion before they would feel comfortable in rebelling. Though there had been some interesting developments in the Riverlands, House Bracken once Daemon’s strongest ally in the south had pushed House Blackwood from the Riverlands, under some pretext or the other, mainly to get more lands for themselves. There had been much fighting, something that has lasted for two years following the ending of the third Blackfyre war, and it had ended with Raventree Hall being left in ruins, House Blackwood fleeing north and House Bracken gaining all the land that had once been Blackwood’s. Daeron’s sources had reported that House Bolton was meant to benefit from this as well, they were supposed to get Raventree Hall, but its ruination and the fact that House Bracken still had most of their men left at the end of the battle, ensured that Domeric Bolton did not press his claim for the lands.

House Blackwood had fled north led by Lord Dorren Blackwood’s heir Malcolm Blackwood, the lad had been fourteen when he had arrived at the gates of Moat Cailin beaten and broken with some 200 men and women and children at his back, begging to be granted asylum in the north. Daeron had spent much time debating whether or not to let them into the north, he knew the value of having House Blackwood in the north, all the houses that followed the old gods being in the north was surely a sign from the old gods themselves. However, he had not forgotten how they had sided against Daemon and his son during the last few wars, ultimately he decided that they would be let in and had ordered a castle built for them at Sea Dragon Point, but he had told young Dorren Blackwood that they would need to prove their loyalty before he would give them anything more.

There had been other issues during the four years since the ending of the war as well. Daeron’s son Jorah and his wife had had their first child, a son they had named Torrhen, the heir to the Princedom of the Three Sisters, had his father’s brown hair and long face, but his mother’s blue eyes and fiery temper it seemed. Another child had been born to them as well, another boy they had named Laenor, this child was pure Stark in look, and seemed to be quite quiet and solemn, though he was only two so it was hard just yet for Daeron to judge. Both children had been given Direwolf pups, which Edwyle had procured from a female direwolf he had managed to bring from the Wolfswood. Daeron’s eldest son and heir had also had his first son, a boy named Daemon who had Arianne’s black hair, and tanned skin but had the same purple eyes as Aegor did. The child had been born a year ago, and his birth was celebrated massively in Winterfell and the entire kingdom, the heir had an heir the succession was further secured.

Daeron’s youngest daughter by Arianne, Elaena had also had children. A set of twins with Lord Donnor Reed, the Lord of Greywater Watch. The children had been named Donnel and Serena, and were both reflections of Elaena with their silver hair and violet eyes. Daeron wondered if they would have her gift of the sight as well when they grew, but as of now he was not willing to pry too much into his daughter’s children, not yet.  Another of Daeron’s daughter’s Lyanna had wed Beron Umber the heir to Last Hearth, Beron Umber’s great grandsire Hothar Umber had died on the Old God’s Ridge, dying as he had lived, a sword in hand.

His children were all growing up so quickly that it was beginning to catch up with him, just exactly how many years had passed since this had all begun. There were times when Daeron found himself questioning whether what he was doing was the right thing, not in supporting the Blackfyres, that he knew was the right thing to do, but in other things, whether he had made the right choices with regards to the actual governing of his kingdom and whether or not his children would do alright once he was gone. Such questions often haunted his dreams as of late, and nothing he did seemed to get rid of them, it was beginning to worry him.

Still he had other issues to consider he had matters of state and kingdom to discuss, and that was why he was sat in court at the present time listening to petitions drag on and on. An old man, from the Wolfswood was complaining of the presence of Direwolves and how they were scaring away the good game for him and his, Daeron told the man he would look into the matter and have it settled. A woman came forth then, sobbingly she told him of how bandits had come in the middle of the night and slain her husband and two sons and left her with nothing but a ruin of a house. Daeron asked her where the men were now and she said she knew not. Daeron looked at his cousin then and Edwyle nodded, they would find the men Daeron told her and they would be dealt with most sufficiently.

Another several petitions seemed to come and go before Daeron’s eyes, all about some minor matter or squabble all of which were settled relatively easily, and then court was called to an end, and Daeron walked from the room to the council chamber. As he waited for the other members to enter, he opened up the book of the Winter’s Guard, his brother Theon had left it here during the last meeting, he browsed through the entries until he got to the list of the current members. Lord Commander Theon Stark, Asphell Wull, Rickard Karstark, Jeyne Mormont, Beric Dustin, Lewyn Reed, Mors Harlaw, Owen Norrey and Daeron’s own son Brandon Stark. Brandon had joined the guard just after the last war, stating that he neither wished to marry nor have children nor simply wished to serve his king. Daeron had considered arguing with him about that point but had later decided to accept his son’s wishes, after all he would only learn more about how to be a warrior from his fellow guardsmen, more than Daeron could teach him for certain.

The doors opened and the other council members walked in. High Steward Edwyle Stark looking grim as always, master of coin, Lord Rodwell Manderly, High Admiral of the Northern Fleet Rodrick Greyjoy, High Shadow Ethan Glover, old and wizened Grand Maester Tywin and finally Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard, Daeron’s own brother Theon Stark. Once all the members were seated Daeron spoke. “My lords I thank you for coming. It has been sometime since we last met, I would hear what has been happening in the realm since then.”

Ethan Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte spoke then. “There have been no disturbances in the kingdom since the war Your Grace. Though my sources do have news on these bandits that the woman from the village brought before you today.” Daeron nodded for Ethan to continue and he spoke. “These men are bandits from the south who came with Dorren Blackwood when he fled from the riverlands, they wear Blackwood’s coat of arms on their armour and clothes when they raid villages, and they claim to be doing their work in their master’s name.”

Edwyle spoke then. “And has Blackwood given a response to these outlaws’ claims? Do they truly ride underneath his banner?”

“From the ravens I have sent to the man, he fervently denies the claims of the outlaws and says that they are not men he would keep around neither him nor his family. He begs the king leave to bring these men to justice.” Ethan replied.

Daeron nods then and says. “Very well, write back to Blackwood Ethan and tell him he may do just that, I will want the heads of these men as proof of his work and loyalty. Now what other issues are there to discuss?”

Rodrick Greyjoy, Daeron’s nephew spoke then. “There is Your Grace. My men apprehended a ship from Lannisport that had Ser Tion Lannister on it. My uncle writes that after much questioning, the man finally admitted that he was trying to come to Winterfell as a spy to assess the strength of the kingdom.”

Daeron sighs for a moment. “Ah so the spying has begun once more has it? I am glad you thought to question the man Rodrick. Very well did the man say anything else?”

“No Your Grace. He did not even say who it was that sent him. Just that he had been sent to find out the strength of Winterfell and the North.” Rodrick replied.

Daeron thought for a moment and then said. “Tell your uncle to let the man go. He has seen nothing other than the cells of Pyke; he will have nothing to report. Now what else is there that needs discussing?”

Grand Maester Tywin spoke then his voice raspy and tired sounding, the man was pushing a hundred and soon enough would be gone from the world. “Word from the citadel Your Grace. I have informed them of my ailing health and they have sent me a list of people that they are considering as my replacement.” The man unfurled a piece of paper and then read the names of the list. “Maester Ballabar, Maester Cronin, Maester Devon, Maester Aemon, Maester Davos.”

At the name Aemon, Daeron’s ears perked up. “Did you say Aemon maester? Do you mean Aemon Targaryen?”

Maester Tywin smiled slightly then and said. “Aye Your Grace, I do. Aemon Targaryen has earnt his chain and has been serving as maester of the citadel for some time now ever since his brother Daeron’s death. It is said he is one of the best upcoming talents the citadel has seen in quite a while.”

“Now would that not be ironic, if a Targaryen served as Grand Maester of the kingdom. Surely the citadel will not be mad enough to send a Targaryen here?” Lord Rodwell asked.

Daeron said nothing he merely thought about it, would they send him Maekar’s boy? Would they truly be foolish enough to do that? Who knew what the citadel would do. “Regardless, if there is nothing more I would like to speak with my cousin alone for now.” The other members left and then it was just Daeron and Edwyle left. “How are Melissa and her children doing cousin?” Daeron asked.

His cousin coughed slightly and then said. “They are well Your Grace. Melissa has become a grandmother, her eldest son Jeor has had a boy with the Karstark girl he wed.”

Daeron nodded. “That is good cousin, but they cannot be your heirs Edwyle, you must marry and soon.”

His cousin merely nodded and asked. “I take it the girl has flowered then?”

“Flowered and come of age cousin. The wedding will take place in two moons time, and you will get her with child. I will not have Moat Cailin fall into the hands of a southerner.”

* * *

 

**Bittersteel**

The screams echoed in his head, the banners of the black dragon he had dedicated his life to had flapped in the wind that day. That day, had become Redgrass or was the Roads? He was not sure anymore, but all he knew was that he had fought a battle there, and broken the Arryn host, had slain Lord Arryn and then had retreated north when he had seen the stampede, his men would have been overwhelmed he knew that, had said it numerous times to make himself feel better, and yet it still stung. They had been so close to victory, so close to destiny and it had been snatched from them, by some bastard with a good aim and some blood sense in his head.

They had retreated north, like whipped curs, and had cursed and shouted and yelled when they had reached Moat Cailin. Bitterness was not a word to be used, it felt more like betrayal and yet there was nothing they could do, they had retreated they could not very well return south again and attack, they’d be destroyed. So he’d led the company to White Harbour and from there they had sailed to Tyrosh. Where they had spent the first two years after the war nursing hurts and pain, and drinking, lots of drinking had happened, a way to drown the pain.

Robb Reyne had died in those two years, from a wound he had taken. The death had been long and agonising, and Aegor’s friend had screamed and screamed for release, and so he’d given it to him. Slitting his throat with his sword in the dead of the night and then leaving. He’d sent word to Castamere to inform Robb’s son of his death, there had been no response but Aegor had later learn that the boy had sworn undying loyalty to the Iron Throne, the traitor. Others had died as well, broken and old. Daemon’s goodfather had died last year, eighty years old and so cold and broken he knew not where he was from or who he was. Daemon’s wife had died as well, from a fever and a broken heart. The boys had mourned her passing but they had gorged themselves on fighting in the Disputed Lands.

It seemed the only thing they were likely to win was a battle in the Disputed Lands that last one had been the fourth such battle the company had fought since being founded. It had been a bloody struggle, Tyrosh had sided with Lys in the fighting this time, but Myr had employed help from Bravos and Pentos and so the fighting had raged for a year. On and off, the fighting had helped Aegor and his men get over their pain from the last failed Blackfyre war. The bloody struggle, the chaos of it all that was what he lived for now, on and on it had gone until the sand of the lands ran red with the blood of many fallen foes. Myr was beaten, Lys and Tyrosh claimed dominion over half of the lands equally. The company was paid and then they retreated back to the city.

A new generation of commanders had come to take the place of the old guard. These commanders were not so willing to focus on Westeros as the old guard had been, they were more concerned with earning gold and spending it in the brothels. Their discipline was beginning to fall, but Aegor had managed to keep them all in line, more through fear than anything else. Monterys as the spymaster kept tabs on Westeros and once or twice there had been the suggestion of perhaps invading, but it always was shot down, they had insufficient funds, they had not enough allies, they did not have enough men. All were true, but it was beginning to grate on Aegor’s nerves, but then more fighting arrived in the form of fighting between Lys and Tyrosh and so his anger was forgotten for a time. Lys was beaten, and Tyrosh held the disputed lands, for now at least, the Archon though was growing weary of having the company in his city, and was making moves to remove them from it. Or at least he had been, before he had been killed by one of the men. The new Archon was more amenable to their needs.

There were other things on Aegor’s mind as well, that made staying in Tyrosh preferable. His family had grown, his fifth child had been born recently, a girl he had called Selena. He had three sons and two daughters, Daemon, Daeron and Aegon all served as squires to members of the company, Selena was betrothed to Aerion’s own son Aenar and his other daughter Barbra was in Westeros working as a septa in King’s Landing, though her black hair and blue eyes made many think she was a Baratheon, it was from her that Aegor got most of his own information about the city.

Aerion, the mad prince, had become like a son to Aegor as well, the boy had gone from being mad to being quite stable, and was a fine swordsman and commander, he had proved himself countless times over the years. The fact that his son was close to Aegor’s own son Daeron made things a lot easier as well, it gave them something to talk of when they were not discussing battle plans. It was strange, Aegor had never thought he would care about such things, but in his old age he increasingly was. Perhaps this was why both Daemon and Daeron had been so keen on having children, there was a sense of fulfilment and pride one got from seeing your children achieve something.

And things between he and Shiera had improved markedly, as well. She had become his lover, and confidant and all those things he had so desperately wanted with her since he had been a child. She had finally told him why she had gone for Bloodraven all those years ago something about him not being angry all the time and being more learned than Aegor was. He had drunk a lot of wine when this conversation had been held in their bed after a night of feasting; he had told her he had loved her since he had first lain eyes on her as a child, and that he would do anything for her. He hoped she loved him back and that what they had would last; otherwise he knew not what he would do with her.

“Ser?” came a hesitant voice from beyond the tent flap, Aegor opened his eyes, and saw that Shiera was still in his arms, fast asleep, his head was hurting though.

“What is it?” he called.

“Ser Haegon has called a meeting of the commanders Ser. He requests your presence.” The voice replied.

“Very well. I shall be out in a few moments.” Aegor replied. He got up out of bed and then dressed into his black doublet. Shiera slept soundly on in their bed, he kissed her hand and then walked out into the blazing heat, and then walked into the command tent, where Haegon, Monterys, Maegon, Aerion as well as Ser Devon Ambrose and Ser Garth Strickland were sat.

“Ah good nuncle now that you are here we may begin.” Haegon said, the boy, well he was no longer a boy, but he would always be as such to Aegor, began looking more and more like Daemon with each passing year, it was as if he were looking at a ghost. “Now as you know, there have been some small disturbances in the Disputed Lands, but that is not the true matter as to why this meeting has been summoned. We sent word to Volantis sometime ago asking for an audience with the Triarchs, and they have finally responded.”

“And what have they said Haegon?” Aegor asked, he could feel his age beginning to catch up with him.

“They have agreed to give us more men and coin. Free of interest, and free of repayment. At least the tigers have. The elephant remains ignorant of the deal, but he will soon be elected out of power.” Haegon replied

“Haegon, we must have all the Triarchs on our side for the plan to work. The elephants hold the finances for Volantis and they will not part with it for some small profit on their own end. You could bring more war down on us.” Aegor said sharply.

Haegon spoke then his voice calm. “The leader of the elephants is an old and done man. He will not be doing anything, and the others will not do anything without his say so. We shall be fine uncle. Now we must discuss where we shall head to next.”

Aegor though needed to make his nephew see the error of his ways. In a voice that was as sharp as any he had used on the boys when they were still children he said. “No we must discuss this move of yours. The tigers have not held all three seats of power since the days of Aegon the Dragon. Even now their hold on Volantis is weak, the elephants will come back into power and we shall not have what we need. We must renegotiate the deal for something that will not come back and bite us.”

Haegon seemed as if he were about to argue but then Monterys the voice of reason spoke. “He is right brother. Uncle Aegor is right, we must reconsider and treat the tigers with suspicion otherwise we shall sink and our goals will go down the drain.”

Haegon eventually concedes and sighing says. “Very well write to them then and tell them we need some time before we sign off on the deal. Now where shall we head next?”

Aerion spoke then, the boy who had become like a son to Aegor, who had matured and become sane under his watch. “I believe we should remain in Tyrosh, at the moment there might be a conflict in the Disputed Lands which could serve us well, and other than that there are no other conflicts that could serve our purpose.”

Haegon speaks then. “Stay here? Are you mad Aerion? There are conflicts brewing in Slaver’s bay between Yunkai and Meeren, we could take as much plunder and experience as we could from that, and you wish to remain here? In a city where we might not have a home should the next Archon not be favourable to us?”

“I wish to protect my family Haegon. I cannot do that if I am away in Yunkai can I? There are people who would see us all dead.” Aerion replied his voice markedly calm.

Haegon snorted. “You have grown soft Aerion. Perhaps my sister truly does have you by the balls. If you are so unmanned by the thought of leaving them behind for a few weeks.”

“Enough.” Aegor roars, stopping the argument from going any further. “You are not girls to bicker needlessly. Aerion has a point, but fighting against Meeren could prove very useful for us. The Yunkish are good allies to have, and so we must consider the options. Haegon when would we need to leave if we were to fight for them?”

Haegon looks at the paper before him and says. “A moon’s turn if we were to fight for them uncle. And 500 thousand gold dragons for the plunder.”

“The gold is not the important matter, we must finalise everything with Volantis first before we decide what to do next. Monterys that shall be your job and Haegon next time hold your tongue before speaking.” Aegor says with the air of command he has established.

Later as he is sat in his tent reading through various ledgers and such, Shiera wraps her arms around him and begins kissing him. “I hear you might be going to Yunkai soon Aegor.” She purrs.

“Aye and what if we are, you shall be remaining here.” Aegor says gruffly.

“Well I might know someone who could help you win the battle there much easier.” She replies.

“Who?” Aegor asks.

“A priestess, named Quaithe.” Shiera replies.


	35. Woe To You Of Earth and Wrath

**Lord Athell Connington**

It had been five years since the last Blackfyre war had ended, five years in which a great deal had happened in Westeros. There had been a plague that had wiped out half of King’s Landing in one fell stroke, doing much of the Blackfyres work for them, though the King and Royal family remained unaffected. There had been a famine in the Reach, which had ended up killing Lord Tyrell and his wife and his children leaving his brother Ser Moryn as the new lord of Highgarden. The succession crisis in Casterly Rock had been resolved bloodlessly surprisingly, with Tion Lannister, the youngest grandson of Tybolt Lannister become the new Lord of the Rock and Warden of the West, rumours still abounded though that Tion’s mother had slept with another man and that Tion was a bastard, however given that the lad was strongly built and skilled at arms some of these rumours were beginning to die down.

It was events such as these that had prevented any sort of formal document from being signed to actually formally acknowledge the rather fractious peace that now existed between the Iron Throne and the North. Athell knew from the letters his brother Ser Boremund had sent home that the King had grown very frustrated over the issue, and that now that the realm was relatively stable he felt confident enough to send through envoys to bring peace back in a formal setting. Athell knew he had been chosen as the envoy to head north, because of the fact that his mother the Lady Elaena was one of the few people that Daeron Stark would actually abide having in his home. His mother, who was famous for her marriages as much as for her time in the Maidenvault, had agreed to come with him as an envoy along with his aunt Rhaena, who had been serving as part of the most devout for the best party of sixty years now.

Athell had not expected to become Lord of Griffin’s Roost, hell he had never been looked upon with much interest by either of his parents before now. Nestor had always been the heir, the one that both his father Artys and his mother had been proud of, the perfect heir and then the perfect lord, Nestor had done everything to ensure the prosperity of Griffin’s Roost, but because of his preferences in bed, had never really married, had never considered settling down, something that had never truly been an issue when Boremund had still been his heir. Boremund though had always been headstrong, a fierce swordsman who had always been more suited to the battlefield than to the politics that came with being a lord, had joined the Kingsguard when the first opportunity had presented itself, and had gone onto distinguish himself. That had left Athell, the youngest of Lady Elaena’s seven children to become Lord of Griffin’s Roost, Athell had been four when his father died, and twelve when his mother had married once more to old Lord Lefford, he had married when he was twenty and now had two children, a daughter Serenei who was betrothed to the current heir to Storm’s End and a son Medger who was squiring with Prince Aegon. Still he was forty years old and had never really shaken of the feeling of inadequacy that came with being the youngest and the least successful of children.

He had met his other siblings from his mother’s previous marriage and her previous affair with Lord Alyn Velaryon, rather briefly. And frankly there had been times when he wondered if his mother had been wrong in thinking he was her son. He was not as martially skilled as Nestor, Boremund or Jon had been, nor was he as smart as Viserys was, if he was perfectly honest with himself he was just an average man who had managed to do reasonably well for himself.

He could not help the feelings of bitterness that often arose inside of him when he saw just how happy his mother was at getting to see his cousin Daeron Stark once more. He had never seen her smile like that at him; she had never ever once voiced any positive things at him. But now she was positively glowing with joy and happiness. It helped he supposed that Lord Lefford was long dead now, and that the Golden Tooth had passed onto a cousin who Athell knew for a fact his mother had been sleeping with before Lefford had died. Still there were feelings of bitterness inside of him about how much joy his mother was actually visibly displaying at seeing Daeron Stark once more.

Athell had heard much about his cousin, he had heard about the mischief his cousin had gotten up to with Daemon Blackfyre and the King when they had been children. He had heard about how much of a god Daeron was with a sword in his hand, and how he had charmed almost everyone he had met. There was a small part of Athell that truly wished to meet his cousin and see how much of the legend was true and how much was myth, there was another part of him that simply wanted to crawl into the nearest cave and hide. He had never been good speaking to men who preferred the martial arts to books, books were his escape from the hell his life had been, the insecurities, but a man like Daeron Stark would likely frown down upon him.

They had been at Moat Cailin for three days, resting from their tiring journey north, and Athell had met Jon Royce of Shadow Point, the man whom many in the south thought of as a traitor, for abandoning the throne and fighting for the heathen Starks against the loyal Boltons. Athell had met Domeric Bolton once or twice at court, and personally he thought Royce had made the right choice. Edwyle Stark the Lord of Moat Cailin was currently in Winterfell, but his wife and baby, a boy named Rickard were in Moat Cailin as well, his wife was from Skagos and was very, very shy and quiet.

Athell shook his head to clear his thoughts as the massive stone walls of Winterfell came into sight, the banners of the Starks were flapping in the air as they came closer. They were escorted to the Great Hall where the king greeted them and bid them rest for a bit before they spoke of why they had come so far. The feast that evening was pleasant; a rich affair of foods and drink was on offer, though Athell did have to wonder where his cousin got all of it from. The next day was when the business of the trip was actually discussed. Athell felt nervous as he entered the Great Hall with the whole of the northern court in attendance.

“Lord Connington, I believe you have brought terms from Maekar Targaryen, with which we shall seal this peace. I would hear them now.” Daeron Stark said his voice hard as iron.

Athell swallowed nervously. “I have Your Grace. His Grace, King Maekar of House Targaryen, the first of his name, has bid me to come and present the following terms to you and to the north in order to better ensure the peace of the realm. His Grace states that for the peace to last for a long time and be considered seriously, the Ironborn under Lord Rodrick Greyjoy must cease their raiding of the lands south of the neck and that any prisoners still held by either side will be returned and exchanged.”

There was some murmuring but it all stopped when Daeron Stark opened his mouth. “And what would we get in return for abiding by this?”

Athell swallowed once more and then said. “If you agree to these terms Your Grace, then Beron Stark’s remains shall be returned to the north, and the Royal Fleet shall stop its raiding of ships coming from White Harbour.”

Daeron Stark spoke then his voice hard as iron once more. “That is all well and good, I see no reason to object to those terms. However, I have one small item to add to it. I want it known that Westeros is at peace formally and legitimately, and that if either side acts to break this peace, then this treaty shall be declared null and void.”

Athell tensed up at that and looked at his mother before saying. “That is acceptable Your Grace. I shall add it to the treaty I have here.”

“There will be no need Lord Connington; I have already had two copies of the treaty with this last titbit added on.” The Winter Dragon replied.

Athell was stunned, how did the man have the treaty already, he looked at his mother and she merely shrugged. Sighing he said. “Very well then, shall we proceed to sign the document then Your Grace?”

The Winter Dragon smiled, stood up and walked down to where Athell was standing, and in front of the whole of the northern court, and the envoys that had come with Athell, the treaty bringing the peace to Westeros once more was signed and sealed. Peace was now formally recognised, no blood had been shed. After the signing of the treaty, Athell spent another two weeks in Winterfell and the north, he spent much of that time within Winterfell’s great library, reading books he had only heard of in stories and such, his mother and aunt spent a lot of time with Daeron Stark, reminiscing about old times and making plans for the future.

His cousin found him in the library, his eyes dropping shut over the tome of some book on dragonlore. “My aunt tells me you have a penchant for reading Lord Connington.” Daeron Stark’s voice snaps him out of his reverie and he shoots up. “Please, don’t get up on my account. I trust all has been to your liking?”

Athell is silent for a moment and then he replies. “Yes Your Grace, very much so. You have a very impressive library here, better than that of the Red Keep.”

Daeron smiles slightly then. “Aye, my first wife was an avid reader, so I got these books for her to read. My son Jonnel likes to read here as well from time to time.”

“Are you okay Your Grace? Do you need me for some specific reason?” Athell asks hesitantly, he had not expected his cousin to come and seek him out.

Daeron Stark laughed softly then and said. “I merely came to see if you were enjoying your time here my lord. We are cousins after all, and though I have not met any of my aunt’s other children apart from Jon Waters, I wished to make sure you were comfortable here. I believe you will be returning south soon enough?”

“I will Your Grace, King Maekar expects the treaty to be handed to him in person, and my wife and children are sorely missed.” Athell replies.

Stark nods then and says. “Aye, I can understand that. Well I shall leave you to your reading. When you see Maekar next, tell him I say hello.” With that the Winter Dragon walks out of the library leaving Athell to his books and his thoughts.

When he does eventually leave, it is without his mother and aunt, both of whom wish to spend the rest of their days away from the south and the politics that infests the court. That they wish to spend it with Stark and not with him, stings slightly, but he understands there is something about the man that attracts people and speaks of charisma and strength. Before he heads south though his mother hugs him firmly and whispers. “Be safe sweetling. I love you and am so very proud of you.”

Athell thinks about those words for the whole journey back, and once he returns to Griffin’s Roost after giving the King the treaty, he wonders if perhaps it would be better for his family and for his people if the next time war rolled around he remained out of it all. He will not fight his kin after all.

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

All he ever felt now was tiredness. The intrigues of court and council and his father’s diminishing health were beginning to wear on him. Much had happened over the past six years since the war had ended. There had been the plague that had wiped out half of King’s Landing and most of the court and council itself, though the fact that Aegon, his father and his family had all survived it was more of a miracle and pure chance than a sign from the gods, still the amount of time it had taken for the city to recover from the plague had been staggering. Aegon had not been present for the Great Spring Sickness, but his sisters had told him all about the bodies being burnt in the Dragon Pit, and such things happened once more during the aftermath of the plague, the stench had been gagging and Aegon still had nightmares about it even now.

There had been other concerns as well; the famine that had taken out half the Reach had destroyed a significant part of the crown’s revenues and coin reserve. Lord Tyrell and his children had all died during the famine and the man’s brother Moryn had become Lord of Highgarden. The man was an oaf, and yet somehow things were beginning to look up for the Reach and as such the crown as well, the dependence that they had on the area was most worrying for both Aegon and his father, and yet there was nothing they could do about it, the Stormlands were still a ruin from the war, the crownlands were without much due to the plague, the Westerlands had been in chaos until very recently.

There had also been the rewarding of those who had done good service during the previous war. Many men had become knights or come into land confiscated from rebel houses or houses that had died out during the war. One man who had benefitted the most was Mern Dragonbane, the archer who had ruined the Blackfyre campaign by getting two arrows to knock out Aegon Blackfyre, causing the northern forces to flee. He had been granted lands in the Reach and made a Lord, a high elevation for a man who had once been a mere poacher, but a loyal man nonetheless.

The Lannisters, gods that had been one huge headache, they had sat out of the war due to a succession struggle, a struggle that had last for ten years. Eventually settled when Aegon’s own father had gotten involved. Tion Lannister, the eldest son of Tybolt Lannister’s fourth son was made the Lord of the Rock and Warden of the South. The lad was seventeen, strong and skilled at arms and well liked in the Westerlands, and so it seemed like there would be peace in that part of the kingdom, at least if another war broke out. Lannister had wed Myrcella Reyne in order to make sure the Reynes were tied to the Rock and thus could not think about rebelling again.

News from their sources across the narrow sea reported that the Golden Company was engaged in a conflict in Slaver’s Bay between the various slaver cities, last they had heard they were fighting for Yunkai. Reports on Aegon’s older brother, Aerion, had made him out to be Bittersteel’s right hand man, and apparently much saner than he had been when he had actually lived in Westeros. Though it was perfectly possible that he might have become saner, Aegon doubted that it was little more than an act, Aerion had pretended to be sane around their father all the time, and yet had been cruel and derogatory to Aegon and his siblings when no one was there to stop him. He felt sorry for his brother’s wife and children, and also slightly concerned.

King Maekar was not a young man, and his health was not what is used to be, it had taken a turn for the worse after Aegon’s mother had died from the plague. Still the question of who would actually succeed Maekar as king was an issue that haunted Aegon’s every movement. His eldest brother Daeron had died of a pox some years ago, but had left behind a feeble witted daughter named Myriah, the girl was but five years old and yet Aegon had seen people already trying to wheedle their way into her good graces, as her guardian he had put an end to it rather abruptly. There were those who whispered about Aerion potentially becoming King, but that was something that Aegon feared and knew his father was not so keen on happening, after all Aerion was  a traitor. Up until very recently that had left Aemon as the next potential heir despite his vows, however, the working of the citadel had put paid to that.

Winterfell’s maester, Grand Maester Tywin had died of old age in his sleep in the early months of 230 A.L. and there had been much debate over whom the citadel would chose, and whilst they had known that Aemon was in contention for the spot no one had actually thought the citadel would chose him. That they had was seen as an insult to the royal family, and it was, the Targaryen hold on power was not what it could be Aegon knew, and with Aemon was the Grand Maester of the North, it seemed the traitor Daeron Stark now held yet another chip over his father. The members of the council had discussed perhaps pressuring the citadel into changing its decision, and Aegon had seriously agreed with them. Aemon had however, come to court and told them all that they were not to interfere with the Citadel’s choice, he was a maester made to serve whomever he was sent to serve, and as such he would do as bid even if he did not wish to.

Along with that drama, Aegon had become a father once more. Rhae had given birth to twins but a few moons ago, a boy whom they had named Aelix and a girl whom they had named Rhaelle. They now had four children, Duncan who was ten years old and causing all kinds of havoc, Jaehaerys who was eight years old but was very frail and a constant cause of worry and concern to both his parents, and now Aelix and Rhaelle who were both still babes and yet Aegon knew they would go onto achieve great things he could feel it in his bones. His sister Daella had also had another child; she had wed Lord Markus Celtigar some ten years ago, and had so far had three children with him, this current one being her third. Two boys and a girl, the boys Aeron and Baelon were thick as thieves with Aegon’s own children and the third child was a girl a babe the same age as Aelix and Rhaelle, whom Daella had named after their mother Lyselle.

Aegon stretched and then got up from his chair and looked briefly at the bed where Rhae was still sleeping thank the gods. It was late, very late and yet his father had summoned him to his solar to discuss some matter of grave import, and so he walked to the door and opened it as quietly as possible before closing just as softly. He nodded to Ser Boremund Connington of the Kingsguard who remained guarding the room, Ser Gwayne Gaunt followed Aegon silent as a shadow, relieving Ser Steffon Storm of his duty when they came to the king’s solar.

King Maekar had his head bent over some letter or the other, though he looked up when Aegon entered the room. His eyes were sunken with bags underneath them, he truly did seem quite tired, and though Aegon knew his father would not appreciate it if he told him that. “You asked for me father.” he said instead.

“Yes, yes. Sit down.” The king said pointing to a chair just in front of him. Aegon sat down, and waited for his father to continue speaking. After a long moment of silence Maekar spoke his voice laced with tiredness. “How are Rhae and the children doing?”

“They are doing well father. They’re sleeping just now.” Aegon replied. “Is all well father?”

His father was silent for a long time and then said. “What? Oh yes, yes everything is fine sorry lad. A letter came from your sister today that I was reading. It seems her husband has found more hidden treasure within the family vaults, and wonders if he would be able to sell them off to raise more money.”

“And are these heirlooms ours are his?” Aegon asked.

“His, no that is not why I have asked you here. As you know the council was severly hit by the plague, and as such the other members have continued to drop like flies. And with Daeron dead, and his daughter lacking in some of the more basic understandings of life, that leaves Aerion and yourself as my heirs.” The king replied.

“What of Aemon father?” Aegon asked.

His father sighed then. “What of Aemon Aegon? He has decided his own fate, and I can do nothing about it now without breaking the treaty and the peace, and that I will not do. No, Aerion and yourself are now my heirs. However, Aerion is now Bittersteel’s puppet, whether he be sane now or not, I know the man Aegor Rivers is, should Aerion succeed me as king, Bittersteel will use him and then put the Blackfyres on the throne. I cannot have that. Stone tells me that already people are plotting to have me killed you as well, I want you to send Rhae and the children to Summerhall, where they will be under the protection of the Baratheons and the Fells and those who are undyingly loyal to us.”

“You wish for me to send my own wife and children away whilst I remain here? Surely they will be in more danger in Summerhall then they would be here father?” Aegon asked.

His father shook his head. “No they will not be. Stone’s whispers have told him and me that there are those at court who wish to do us both harm, and what better way than to harm Rhae and the children. No I will not allow that to happen, they will be better protected at Summerhall with people who are loyal to them and them alone not to anyone else. You shall remain here because I mean to name you my hand and my heir.”

Aegon is silent for a long time shocked, not at being named heir; he had suspected that for a long time, but more at being named hand. “Are you sure about this father? I am honoured but would not Lord Domeric be better suited to being your hand?”

His father snorts then and says. “Lord Bolton is many things, but he does not have the skills to manage the yes men that infest the court and the council these days. You do, you have more knowledge about the things that will keep us in the people’s good graces than he does. Bolton hungers for power, and whilst he has been loyal, giving him too much power and he will do as he did in the north. No you shall be my hand; it will be good experience for you before you become King.”

Aegon nods and then says. “About Ser Michael Stone father...”

“What about him?” Maekar asks sharply.

Aegon is silent for a moment and then he says. “I do not trust him. He seems too slimy and incongruous to truly be loyal to the throne and the crown. How do we know he does not work for Bittersteel and Aerion?”

His father laughs then, truly laughs. “Ah you are learning quickly. You are right not to trust Stone, Aegon, that man is nothing but a snake it is true. Yet he has his uses just as Bloodraven did. He is loyal to the throne, he has too much of Bloodraven not to be. Yet I have kept an eye on him for a long time now and his reports are always accurate and to the point, even if they do occasionally turn up late.”

“Still I do not trust him father. There’s something about him that unnerves me.” Aegon admits.

His father laughs once more. “I would be worried if you did trust him Aegon. He is Bloodraven’s pupil and as such would always be slimy, however he is loyal never doubt that. Still if you wish to learn more about him, I will not stop you. Just be careful you do not get caught, the world does not need to know your suspicions.”

* * *

 

**Prince Aegor Stark**

Seven years since the war, seven long years. So much had happened in those seven years, the lords of the north and the Iron Islands had been discontent with the way the third Blackfyre war had ended, and Aegor had thought that perhaps, his father might finally realise the futility of his goal, but no,  the Winter Dragon would not accept defeat and somehow through a mixture of charisma and pure strength had convinced the lords of the northern kingdom that their best interests lay with ensuring that the Blackfyres continued to receive their support. Aegor was not sure how or why his father continued to support the Blackfyres, the North and the Iron Islands were one kingdom, with completely different ideals to those in the south, to those people that his father was so desperate to see ruled over by Aegon Blackfyre. Aegor’s goodbrother was a good man a smart man, and yet Aegor could not stand him nor his nieces and nephews simply for what they represented. The prevention of any chance of peace that Westeros could ever see, for as long as they lived and the Targaryens continued to win, the realm would bleed. Aegor was not sure how his father could not see that.

It had reached the stage where Aegor had begun to think there was much that his father could not see or rather chose not to see. Aegor’s own wife, Delena had died in childbirth trying to give him another son, his wife and his second son had both died; his wife from complications during the birth, his son was stillborn. Aegor had been crushed by that, he still was, he wondered if perhaps he should not have tried to give his wife another child, giving birth to Daemon had nearly killed her as well, but no his father had told him he would need a spare and so he had done his duty and it had cost him his wife. His father had been busy in a council with Aegon Blackfyre when Delena had died, and when told of the news he had not offered Aegor condolences, he had merely said that it was sad and that things would need to move on. Move on! The man who had mourned Aegor’s mother’s death for a long time telling his son to move on, oh the hypocrisy of it all angered him. Still he had not done as his father had done and abandoned his children, he crushed his grief by making sure his children were looked after and knew that they were loved and cared for. Not as Aegor and Daena had been after Arianne Yronwood’s death. Never like that.

It was this he supposed that had pushed Aegor into the arms of his bastard cousin, Elia Sand. She was his uncle Daario’s bastard daughter, and though Aegor had never met any of his Dornish relatives, it was as if something inside of him had clicked when he met Elia. She had come as part of a trip she was conducting of the seven kingdoms, and something between them had just sparked, and as Aegor, desperate as he was to learn more about his mother’s homeland began to view her as a friend, and sucked up all the information she had to give him, he also found himself growing more and more attracted to her, until one day after his stepmother’s nameday feast they had slept together. He had woken up the next day feeling guilty for taking advantage of his cousin and for insulting Delena’s memory, but Elia had merely kissed him on the cheek and told him that his wife would want him to live, and that she was no innocent maiden. And so their little dalliances had gone into a full blown thing, he knew not what to call it and yet he did not feel so empty as he had before. It was good that his children liked her, though his father disapproved. Aegor cared not for what his father thought, his father who had never bothered to ask him if he would ever want to know about his mother, whenever he had asked about his mother, his father would change the subject.

Other things had happened as well during the seven years since the war. His great aunts Elaena and Rhaena Targaryen had come north and had decided to live out the last of their days in the north. Both women were very strong willed and good people to talk to, they had known Aegor’s mother a bit as well, and had given him more information about her than he was likely to get out of his father. In a sense he resented them as well, for they got more of his father’s attention and smiles than Aegor had ever gotten, it was something that only made him feel even more worthless, and though he was a man grown there were times when he simply thought about telling his father that if he would insist on spilling northern blood for the damn Blackfyres he might as well kill Aegor there and then, for Aegor was growing weary of war.

His two daughters Rhaenrya and Maege were reaching that age where betrothals would have to be made for them. Aegor was determined to betroth them to boys who would be good and kind to them, and who were not Starks or Blackfyres, he would not have his children intermarry with that god’s damn family anymore. Rhaenrya was a strong willed girl who liked weaponry more than sewing and other traditional lady arts, and though Aegor often despaired over what to do with her, he thought he had finally found the perfect husband for her, even one that his own father could not object to Laenor Mormont, the heir to Bear Island. The Mormonts were martial by nature and ever loyal to Winterfell, it would be a good match and a smart one. Maege was a harder decision, she was his little princess, she reminded him a lot of her mother Delena, she was the perfect lady, always polite and courteous even to the brats that Aegor’s sister had raised. She deserved to be with someone who would make her feel special, and as such Aegor did not think there was anyone who fit that bill, but then he did not want his father betrothing her to that oaf of a nephew of his Jaehaerys Blackfyre, or even the other one the one who bore his name Aegor Blackfyre. Perhaps a Manderly or a Dustin would do. Daemon was too young at present to think about betrothal options.

A knock on the door took him from his thoughts. Disentangling himself from Elia who slept soundly on, he put on a robe and walked to the door opening it to find his uncle and the Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard Theon Stark standing in front of him. “What is it uncle?” he asked tiredly. “Has something happened?”

His uncle merely looked at him and said. “The King requests your presence in his solar.”

Aegor nodded closed the door and got dressed and then walked out with his uncle to his father’s solar, when they got there the other members of the council were already present. High Admiral of the Northern Fleet Lord Rodrick Greyjoy, Lord Treasurer Lord Rodwell Manderly, High Steward Lord Edwyle Stark, Grand Maester Aemon Targaryen (an interesting choice and a good man), and High Shadow Lord Ethan Glover. Aegor sat down and then his father spoke. “I apologise for the lateness of the hour and the summons, but we have received some very interesting news. Aemon if you would.”

Maester Aemon the third born son of King Maekar Targaryen, had been named Grand Maester of the north two years ago replacing Maester Tywin who had died in his sleep at the age of one hundred and one. He was a capable man but half the maester Tywin had been. Still Aegor was interested to see what this letter was. “A letter came from Tyrosh, writ by Ser Aegor Rivers, the company returned from Yunkai victorious and with more plunder than they have ever gotten before. They returned to find their camp in Tyrosh had been overrun, and that Aerion Targaryen’s wife and children had been harmed.”

Silence and then Edwyle Stark asks. “Do they know who it was and who sent them?”

Maester Aemon looks at the letter once more and then says. “They do not know who sent the people to sack the camp, but Aerion’s wife Shiera says that the assassin went by the name Mern.”

Aegor’s ears perk up at that. “Is this Mern Dragonbane? The fool they rewarded for firing an arrow at Aegon Blackfyre?”

Aegor’s father replies to that. “No, a different man using the same name. From the Reach, Mern Dragonbane remains in the Reach lording it over everyone else. This man was paid by someone in Maekar’s court to remove Aerion and his family from the inheritance for the throne.”

“But why?” Aegor asks. “Why get his family and not the man himself? Is this some sort of pathetic attempt to make it easier for Prince Aegon to come to the throne?”

Maester Aemon speaks then. “Neither King Maekar or Prince Aegon would result to such means to remove Aerion from the game. No even they would not steep to kinslaying my prince, this was someone else.”

“So who does Bittersteel pin the blame on then?” Aegor asks. “If not Maekar and Aegon Targaryen?”

Aemon speaks then. “The letter states that Bittersteel is laying the blame on King Maekar and his master of whispers one Ser Michael Stone. He blames my father for not being able to realise what sort of person he had in stone.”

Aegor’s father speaks then. “You spent some time at court before joining us Aemon, what sort of man is this Michael Stone?”

Aegor sees the Grand Maester hesitate for a second before he replies. “He was a disciple of Ser Brynden Rivers Your Grace. A most ardent one at that, taking everything the man said at face value and putting it into practice. He inherited Bloodraven’s spy network and put it to good use. He is more sly and cunning than Bloodraven was though, and far more ambitious as well. I would not put it past him to have something like this ordered.”

Rodrick Greyjoy spoke then. “Even if it is Stone, what concern is it of ours Your Grace? It is a Targaryen problem that they will need to solve.”

Aegor’s father was silent for a moment and then said. “It is our concern because, Bittersteel means to launch an invasion once more, he means to attack the Riverlands this time, and I have received word from our friends in the south that, Prince Aegon is gathering men to march north. It seems we shall be marching to war once more.”

Aegor curses then and says aloud. “Should Blackfyre not be here as well then if we are going to war? After all it involves him.”

His father gives him a cold look and says softly. “Aegon is with Daena and their children at the moment, I would not have them disturbed until we have discussed a suitable course of action.”

 _And yet you would disturb me, do I mean so little to you father?_ Aegor thought bitterly. Aloud he only said. “Very well then Your Grace. What would you have of me?”

His father merely looks at him before turning to High Steward Edwyle Stark. “Ed, write to Jon and tell him to strengthen the defences of the Moat and write to Lord Reed, I want the neck nigh impenetrable from the south. Rodrick you shall return to Pyke and call your banners ready for war.”

Both men nod, and Aegor feels anger beginning to boil inside of him. His father does eventually turn to him and says. “You shall head north to the Mountain Clans and tell them to get themselves to Winterfell before the other ravens are sent out.” Aegor nods and then the meeting is ended, but before he goes his father stops him and says softly. “And whilst there you shall find yourself another wife, you need a spare heir Aegor. Fucking that Sand girl will not do.”  Aegor nods and then leaves before he says something he will regret.


	36. Forge The Steel

**High Steward Lord Edwyle Stark**

He was a married man now; the feeling was a strange one. For so long he had been unwed and content with that, the only family he needed he had in Melissa and her children, they provided some joy in the otherwise stressful burden that was his life. But his king and cousin had insisted that he must honour the betrothal that had been made at the end of the Skagosi rebellion. He had wed Lady Val Magnar, the last surviving descendant of Gorne Magnar, in a ceremony over a year ago. It had been a quiet one, held in the godswood of Moat Cailin, and afterwards there had been some festivities but none of which he had taken part in.

His wife was not that unpleasing to the eye, in fact some might say she had a certain beauty to her, Edwyle though was not fussed, he had done his duty and wed the girl, and he had done his duty and gotten her with child, she had given birth to their son Rickard just two moons ago. That did not mean he had to do anything more with her, as far as he was concerned so long as she did not bring his home into ruin he was content to leave her be. So far doing that seemed to be working, his wife was a capable administrator handling the accounts and the day to day chores of running a castle such as Moat Cailin whilst he was away in Winterfell.

He knew she was scared of him, most of the people he knew were scared of him, some saw him as some sort of barbarian or madman who was a frenetic worshipper of the old gods, and made sacrifices to them on an almost daily basis. Only one part of that rumour was true, though he did not mind the other parts of it, so long as people feared and respected him, what should he care what they whispered about him in their cups and homes. If they plotted treason or tried to kill him, he would know about it before the ravens even left their homes or they put their plans in motion.

The only people who seemed not to be scared of him were his king, Daeron Stark and his sister Melissa Royce. They both knew that there was a layer of kindness somewhere underneath all the layers of cold that he had. He was able to laugh with them, more so with Melissa than with Daeron, Daeron was his king and it would not be proper to push their relationship beyond that. With Melissa, she was his elder sister, she had been there during the Bolton Rebellion when southerners had laid siege to their home and Benjen had been killed. She knew what it was like to be afraid, when no one else did, and that was what made him keep her close, Shadow point was not all that far away and as it was they were sworn to him, so they could visit as often as they liked.

Still there were times when he had considered simply upping and leaving, after all these wars in the south were doing more harm than good for the kingdom. Yet trying to make Daeron see that, would be like trying to tell the wildlings that they did not belong south of the wall. His cousin was stubborn on most things, but on this was stubborn beyond the point of reason, and many good northmen had died fighting to put a dragon on the throne. Edwyle did not see what the point in the wars were, black or red a dragon was still a dragon and they would still never truly understand what it was to be from the north. Someone like Aegon Blackfyre might have grown up in the north, but the minute he sat his bony arse on the Iron Throne he would forget about his roots in a minute.

Still when Daeron had told him to call his banners and man the Moat he had obeyed. It was not his place to question the king, openly at least. And that was the reason for why he was currently viewing things from the air. Just as he had foreseen the southerners led by Ser Andros Rivers the bastard of Oldstones had marched up the neck with a host some 12,000 strong being bled along the way by the Cranongmen trying to take the Moat and the North. At first Edwyle wondered why they would be so foolish to do something like that and then word had come from the West, more southerners were marching from the Fever River to the Moat led by Lord Marc Mallister.

Edwyle watched from above, through the eyes of one of his many birds as the men of the north fought the southerners. He watched the hacking, the slashing, the cutting and the clashing of steel on steel. He heard through enhanced hearing, the sounds of men laughing, dying and screaming as the battle war on. These southerners might have greater numbers at present but they did not have the knowledge needed to win, whilst Edwyle and his men did. He watched as his goodbrother cut down man after man, beating a bloody path towards the bastard of Oldstones. The bastard did the same thing, and soon the two of them were locked in combat, fierce and fast. Had he been any other person Edwyle would have worried, there were men beginning to surround his goodbrother, and yet he knew from his visions that today was not the day Jon Royce would die, even if it was Edwyle would make so it wasn’t.

As it turned out his extra services were not needed, for Jon managed to cut down Andros Rivers, not without sustaining some serious injuries himself though. He managed to stagger of to find help, but the battle continued. The southerners had spirit he would give them that, but for every one Northman they killed five of their own died, either through combat or through drowning in the swamps around the Moat and the Neck, caused by their heavy armour. Eventually they realised the futility of their effort and threw down their weapons in surrender. Victory once more. Edwyle flew the birds over to where the other fighting was happening on the Fever River and found that none was occurring the ground was littered with bodies and the river itself was red with blood. Edwyle panicked for a moment before he saw his cousin’s great standard flying proudly on a horse, so it seemed his cousin had won as well.

It seemed his thoughts were correct when three days later the king arrived through the gates of Moat Cailin with his army largely intact as well as a score of prisoners. Once arrangements had been made, the king called a war council, which met in the great hall of Moat Cailin. Edwyle sat to the right of the king, Lords Umber, Manderly, Karstark, Ryswell, Dustin, Glover and Mormont on his side. Whilst to the left of the king sat Lords Wull, Norrey, Liddle, Flint of the Mountains, Royce, Dreadstark and Berstark. The might of the north, and some 25,000 men. The king spoke then. “We have won two very important battles, and have showed these southerners that we will not be taken by surprise. It is a shame Aegon was injured during the battle still I know he will approve of whatever it is we decided upon today.”

There was some murmuring of agreement there, Aegon Blackfyre the one they were fighting to put on the throne had slain Lord Marc Mallister but had received an injury in the process. His son Jaehaerys sat in his place. It was the boy who spoke next. “What news do we have of the south?”

Ethan Glover speaks then his voice tired. “My sources report that the fighting in the Reach continues. Lord Harrold Osgrey continues to plague the Tyrells and the Golden Company assist him. Already Tumbleton, Bitterbridge, Longtable and Grassy Vale have fallen to them. And all their lords have declared for you Your Grace, or have been put to the sword and their heirs have declared for you.”

“What of the Riverlands?” Daeron asked.

Glover was silent for a moment before he spoke once more. “Lords Mooton, Shawney, Butterwell, Bracken and Piper have all bandied together to begin their campaign on Riverrun. Already they hold vast swathes of land that once belonged to the Throne. Lord Tully is assembling a host to deal with them.”

“That is good news indeed. Now then shall we march for the Riverlands onto the capital or shall we march for the Westerlands by way of Seagard?” Daeron asked the hall at large.

Lord Rodwell Manderly spoke then his voice cautious as it always was. “Your Graces, I suggest we march for the Riverlands. We know they are in chaos, a chaos that might even tempt Lord Frey to give us more men. If we take advantage of that chaos, this war could be over and done with relatively soon.”

“Aye,” said Lord Karstark. “Why waste good men on a mission of the Westerlands when we can just as easily take some easy fights in the Riverlands and then put King Aegon on the throne and be home in time for harvest?”

Lord Donnel Berstark, Lord of the Wolf’s Den voiced another opinion. “My lords you forget that the Targaryens will be expecting us to attack the Riverlands, what with the chaos there. Would it not be smarter for us to sail for the Westerlands and fight there? After all Lord Rodrick Greyjoy shall be sailing his ships there and raiding along the coast.”

Lord Umber voiced his agreement. “Aye I do believe that would be a good option. We can finally find out if the Lannisters truly shit gold.” There was some laughter at that though; Edwyle noticed the king was not laughing.

“Edwyle what do you believe we should do?” the king asked him his tone serious.

Edwyle was silent for a moment before he spoke. “I believe we should march south into the Riverlands Your Grace. If we hold the Riverlands, and leave men behind to hold the Stony Shore and White Harbour, the southerners will have no way of getting into the north, especially now that the Moat faces no threats. Whilst defeating the Lannisters on their own turf does have a certain appeal to it, it would take us away from King’s Landing not closer towards it.”

The king was silent for a long moment before he said. “Very well, I have heard your thoughts on the matter. I believe fighting in the Riverlands, not with a paltry force but with our full might will be for the best. The Riverlands are in chaos and we may never have a better opportunity to win the throne back for its rightful owners.” There were murmurs and then the other lords were dismissed, Edwyle remained as did the king, and the lord commander of the Winter’s Guard Theon Stark.

“If you had already made up your mind to march to the Riverlands with the whole host why ask for opinions Your Grace?” Edwyle asked intrigued.

The king is silent for a long moment and then he says softly. “We divided the men up last time around, and we lost, and the time before that. I am tired of losing Edwyle. I will see Aegon on the throne even it kills me. Rodrick will raid the Westerlands and the Reach, and we shall take the Riverlands and smash whatever host of men come our way. And Aegon will sit the Iron Throne before the year is up.”

“You are certain that this will happen Your Grace?” Edwyle asks tentatively.

“I am more than certain Edwyle. I am hundred percent positive that this time we shall win. Then we can all return home and live in peace. This time the gods will grant us victory.” Daeron Stark replies, his eyes glinting.

* * *

 

**Lord Tion Lannister**

The chaos of his ascension to Lord of Casterly Rock was still much talked about in the Westerlands and the in the south he knew. Tion himself still woke up on occasion and found that he did not truly believe he was Lord of the Rock, how he had come to be so still shocked him as well. His grandfather Tybolt Lannister had died during the second Blackfyre War along with his two eldest sons, Gerold and Loren, both of them had died without issue, leaving Tion’s uncle Beric as the Lord of the Rock, and yet a riding accident had done in for him. Beric’s son, Tion’s cousin Lucion was but a babe of two when his father died and so a struggle for the regency of the Rock emerged. The struggle had lasted embarrassingly long, it had gone on for about eight years, through another Blackfyre war and through the destruction of Lannisport and the entire Lannister name stood for. At the end of it all Lucion was dead, his mother was dead, and Tion’s older brothers had died as well, leaving Tion the third son of Ser Morris Lannister as heir of the Rock. King Maekar had named him its lord some two years ago, when he had turned seventeen.

He was nineteen now and still unmarried, there had been no time to get married for war had broken out, well not war exactly more like an avalanche of bandits near the Rock the year he had been named Lord of the Rock. And so Tion had ridden out from the Rock his war hammer in hand to deal with these bandits. They had all been slain and the peace had been restored, that was when the marriage offers had started coming in for him and his brother Tytos. Tytos was two years younger to him and by far a more attractive looking man, though he was too timid and meek to truly make a good lord of the Rock. Regardless of that though, there was a war on now, another war and that meant calling of the banners.

The Ironborn were raiding along the coast of the Westerlands, they had sacked Fair Isle, and had plundered from the Crag, and from Banefort and were sailing towards Lannisport, thinking to burn his fleet at anchor, and yet Tion had outthought them. He was aboard the flagship Lion’s Pride sailing up to meet the Iron Fleet as it sailed down from Banefort, he could see the smoking ruins of Fair Isle from where he was stood on the deck of his ship. When the horn blew, he walked back into his cabin and put his armour on, donning his lion helm and picking up his war hammer, he waited and then when the second horn was blown he raised his hammer up in the air and the battle began.

At first it was a case of arrows being fired from both fleets at one another, and ships being slammed into one another, once both fleets had done enough damage to one another that the possibility of being drowned from ramming was annulled, men from both sides jumped onto the enemy ships. Tion felt his armour clang as he landed on the deck of one Ironborn ship bearing a skull on it, he swung his war hammer at the first person to come his way, a small wisp of a man who was crushed under the weight and impact of the hammer. He moved on, swinging as he went, one man flew off the ship and drowned underneath his armour, another’s breastplate was crushed by the war hammer the man sunk to the floor of the ship his armour in ruins blood pouring out of his chest and mouth.

On it went, Tion swinging his way through the men on the ship, until there were none left. “Burn this ship.” He yelled at his men jumping onto the closest ship, and seeing that it was one of his own and that his men were fighting Ironborn he roared a cry and charged into the throng once more. Swinging left, right and centre, men flew from the impact and weight of his war hammer, usually dead upon landing on the ground. Onto the next ship he went repeating the process until his war hammer was slick with blood, and his armour was covered with water and blood and sweat. That was when he saw him Rodrick Greyjoy Lord of Pyke and the Iron Islands, barking orders at his men.

Tion advanced forward knocking down those who tried to stop him like they were nothing more than flies. Eventually he came face to face with Rodrick Greyjoy, and their duel began. Sword and war hammer clashed, echoing throughout the din that was the battle. Greyjoy was skilled with a sword, Tion would give him that. He would feint and then jab at Tion with such ferocity that it sometimes scared him, though the man was quick he was old, and nowhere near as quick as Tion was.

He managed to land a few blows of his own on Greyjoy, winding him and then denting his breastplate, and then he swung his hammer at Greyjoy’s face breaking the man’s helm and his cheek bones. The helm was crushed into Greyjoy’s face and yet the man continued to fight swinging at Tion with some sense of renewed anger and energy, as the battle crashed around them Tion Lannister and Rodrick Greyjoy fought a duel that would be remembered for years afterwards. In the end though youth beat experience, and Greyjoy tired from his exertions slipped up and missed a swing at Lannister’s head that gave Lannister the opening he needed, he swung his war hammer fast and true and knocked Greyjoy to the edge of the ship, before swinging once more and knocking Greyjoy overboard. Rodrick Greyjoy died on the fifth day of the ninth month of the 232nd Year After Aegon’s Landing six moons into the third Blackfyre war slain by Tion Lannister.

His death sealed the fate of the battle, once the Ironborn realised their lord was dead they retreated into the shadows, slaying those who lions who were still on their ships, and leaving behind those of their own too weak to move. Tion commandeered the ship he was on and brought it to port with the men who were left behind by their kinsmen. His own men cheered once all the remaining ships were brought into port, and before Tion could begin questioning the hostages a feast was held.

Once the feast had been held, the next morning Tion assembled his lords in the shell of what was once the Great Hall of Farman Castle, Lord Farman himself was a but a babe, his mother had granted them the hall willingly enough. Though she had looked at Tion most suggestively indeed. Pushing such thoughts aside for a moment he cleared his throat and then spoke in what Tytos called his lord’s voice. “My lords, I thank you for coming to the council meeting today, and I congratulate you on helping me achieve a great victory.” There were some cheers and then Tion spoke once more. “Now as much as I know you would all love to be back home with your wives and children, we must discuss the state of affairs as they currently stand. Lord Gyles, how many ships do we have remaining?”

Lord Gyles of Lannisport a distant cousin spoke in his weedy voice. “Of the sixty war galleys that came we have thirty left, of the normal galleys that we used we have some sixty left my lord. Enough to see our host back home.”

Tion nodded and then asked. “How many men did we lose to this damnable battle?”

Tytos spoke then his voice soft and unsure as it so often was. “We lost 4,000 men to the Ironborn my lord and another 2,000 to their wounds. We have some 5,000 men left.”

Lord Dorros Banefort spoke then his voice strong and impatient. “Yes, yes we all know how many men died during the battle. But there has been news from the mainland, from Lord Marbrand himself. The Reynes have risen up in rebellion once more my lords.”

Tion could have sworn out loud, would those fools never learn? As if hearing his thoughts his brother Tytos asked. “Who leads them? Last I heard, Lord Reyne was a prisoner to the iron throne.”

Lord Banefort spoke once more his voice dripping with disdain. “Ser Borros Hill the bastard of Castamere, the man clearly wants his cousin’s lands and titles, and so has declared for the Black dragon. He raids around inland and burns the lands to smithereens.”

Tion felt his anger grow. “And does Lord Marbrand do nothing of this? What of the Tarbecks? Who has sided with this fool?”

Lord Banefort looks grim once more. “Crakehall, Tarbeck, Vikary, Lefford, Lydden, Plumm and Greenfield have all thrown their strength behind the red lion my lord.”

He grit his teeth in anger then. “Very well,” he managed to spit out. “We shall set sail as soon as we are able, and we shall strike out for Pendric and smash these bastards once and for all. Now what more do we need to discuss?”

Lord Flement Brax spoke then, his tone hesitant. “There is my lord. With the war having broken out once more, there is the issue of your marriage.”

Tion groaned. “Not this again. I cannot think of a marriage now, not when my lands and my people are in danger. Surely naming Tytos as my heir should be good enough for the lot of you?”

Brax grimaced then. “No offense my lord, but Ser Tytos is not exactly one who would inspire confidence in the hearts of men during the heat of battle. It is prudent that you wed and soon, otherwise we might be faced with another succession crisis.”

Tion grimaces then. “Very well, we shall discuss this another time. Now I need to discuss how we will win back the lands the bastard has taken from us. Who knows this bastard well?”

Lord Banefort spoke then. “My son Anders spent some time fostering in Castamere as a lad, he could tell us a few things about this bastard if you so wish.”

Tion nodded and then the lad was brought into the tent. Anders Banefort was a tall strong lad of twenty; he had the look of a Banefort about him with coal black hair and brown eyes, a fierce set to his jaw as well. “Your father tells me you fostered at Castamere with the Bastard Borros Hill, what do you know of him Ser?” Tion asked.

Anders Banefort is silent for a long moment and looks at his father before speaking so softly Tion and the other lords have to lean into hear what he says. “He is a cold man my lords. A cold and calculating man who does not feel pain the way others do. He is efficient in what he does and a skilled warrior, he will lead his men to the ends of the world and they will follow him, not for loyalty but out of fear. If he truly has won that many houses to his side, he must be offering them some sort of incentive. If so the key to beating him will be to find out what that incentive is and remove it.”

“Why would we need to remove this incentive if we can double it?”Tion asked.

“You do not want to do that my lord.” Anders Banefort said his voice becoming thick with worry. “Doing that will make you seem more monstrous than Hill.”

“What do you mean Ser?” Tion asked.

“The incentives that Borros Hill will be offering are blood debts my lord. Debts the houses owe his house that his grandfather was too scared to collect for fear of the Targaryens wrath. Hill does not fear the Targaryens, he fears no one.” Banefort replied.


	37. Court In The Act

**Lord Harrold Osgrey**

War was once more upon them, the Golden Company had invaded Westeros this time not going for the Stormlands, but for the Reach. A smart move Harrold thought, after all most of the Black Dragon’s support had come from the Reach during the first Blackfyre war, and there were those who were still angry with the Tyrells for the numerous foolish acts they had committed over the years. Harrold himself saw the invasion as a chance to get revenge for his father. Lord Addam Osgrey had perished fighting in the Stormlands, fighting alongside the Golden Company against the Targaryens, and had been cut down by some bastard Stormlords, leaving Harrold’s mother heartbroken and in the pits of despair. Revenge was something his father had warned him off of, saying that such a thing or feeling could drive a man mad, and Harrold thought he understood now, ever since his father’s death he had been consumed with revenge, plotting and planning.

Thank the gods his goodbrother had had the sense to join him in his act of rebellion against Highgarden. Lord Devros Rowan was a smart man if not a warrior, and knew how to play his cards right, he’d proven that when he wed his sister Delena off to Harrold sealing their alliance in blood. And now the might of House Rowan was behind Harrold, as well as the might of Coldmoat and Standfast, and that of Tumbleton, Bitterbridge, Longtable and the Grassy Vale had joined them either voluntarily or by force and conquest. Other houses had joined them; the Florents most notably were marching up from Brightwater Keep to harass the Tyrell host in the rear. Houses Ambrose and Ashford had joined them after a fierce battle, which had seen many men die, Lord Torrance Ambrose was now lord of both castles and as such had pledged his remaining strength to the rebel cause.

A smart move and clever, for they had received word from the north that Daeron Stark was heading quickly for King’s Landing with the might of the north and the strength of the Riverlands behind him. They also had learnt that Lord Arryn had assembled a host and was marching close towards them. But for now that was not important, Harrold found his thoughts moving back to his own family. He had wed Delena at the age of twenty and one, fairly old but she had been but a maid of fourteen when they had wed, she was twenty three now, and so far had borne him two sons and two daughters. The eldest of who was named Edwyn and was serving as Harrold’s brother Ormund’s squire. His wife was a good woman, a smart lady with a knack for politics, particularly the politics of the Reach. It had been she who had suggested that he wait for the Golden Company to make the first few strikes before marching to aid them.

As it turned out, her thoughts had proven correct Aegor Rivers had brought, Longtable and Bitterbridge to their cause, and then when they had combined hosts Tumbleton and Grassy Vale fell before them. His mother though, she had gone into her shell when he had gone to tell her he was marching to war. His mother who had always lived in fear of the day that Harrold’s father would die, had become not mad but more concerned and paranoid, not the same strong woman she had been from Harrold’s youth. It saddened him but also made him more determined to make sure he emerged victorious or at least in a much better position that at the start of the war.

The Golden Company was chaired by Aegor Rivers, an angry man if Harrold had ever met one, as well as commanded by Haegon, Monterys and Maegon Blackfyre. All three Blackfyre siblings looked like their father was supposed to have looked but only Haegon had the same brash confidence and cockiness that his father was said to have had. Harrold found that he did not truly like the man, he seemed to be all talk and very little action, though a skilled warrior he was. Some of his suggestions seemed too extravagant and out there for Harrold’s taste. He worried about what would happen when Bittersteel did eventually die and who would take over the company, for Bittersteel’s oldest son was just twenty not yet old enough to lead a company of Blackfyres and exiles.

Prince Aerion Targaryen perhaps might make a good leader Harrold thought. He was no longer the mad man of his youth, and instead was calm and level headed, though of course still a bit shaken by the attempt on his family’s life which was rumoured to have been caused by his own father. Harrold was not sure what to make of that, but what he had seen of Prince Aerion both in battle and in their meetings so far had impressed him. Should things go south with this war, Harrold would not mind bowing and bending the knee to Prince Aerion. Whether the man wanted the crown or not was something, Harrold was sure not even the prince knew.

Still Harrold pushed those thoughts from his head, and looked down at the map once more. They were currently camped at Ashford, and had been for the past two weeks, the Tyrells had been slow to gather their swords to Highgarden, what with most of their lords joining the Black Dragon’s banner once more. Still they had sent the ravens out and their scouts reported men marching from Old Oaks, Horn Hill and Honeyholt. Lord Garse Tyrell had even marched forth from Highgarden himself some four days past according to what Ormund had told Harrold. It appeared as if the roses meant to fight, so be it it was likely the Florents might even break through some of the defensive lines and lay siege to Highgarden which would force Tyrell back, or he would risk losing his seat something that would be considered nigh embarrassing. There had been no word on what the Hightowers were doing, nor was what the Lords of the Shield Islands were doing either, but that to be expected both were probably waiting to see what would happen in this upcoming conflict before marching one way or another.

“My lord, “he heard his squire say. “Ser Aegor Rivers requests your presence in the command tent.”

Harrold sighed and stood up, folding the map and taking it with him, he walked out of his tent and towards the command tent, where upon entering he found Ser Aegor Rivers, Haegon, Monterys and Maegon Blackfyre, Aerion Targaryen, Ser Desmon Strickland, Ser Gormon Flowers, Ser Tristan Hill and Ser Balorch Sand already seated. Harrold nodded at them all and took his seat next to Prince Aerion.  Once he was seated, Bittersteel spoke, his voice deep and harsh sounding as always. “Our scouts have more news for us sers. It would appear that The Florents have been destroyed, the Hightowers have stirred from Oldtown.”

Ser Tristan Hill was the first to speak and break the silence that followed. “How do we know this to be true though my lord?”

Instead of speaking Bittersteel bent down and threw a head across the table, when the head stopped rolling, he spoke his tone grim. “There, is that proof enough for you Hill? The head of a former envoy that one of those bloody Hightowers gave our scout before they killed the rest.”

Haegon Blackfyre spoke then. “So the Tyrells now have extra 9,000 swords with them. They will surely march now and we do not have the ample ground to defend ourselves let alone beat them here in Ashford. We must move.”

“Where would we go though Ser?” Ser Desmon Strickland asked. “We have walls and a ditch here to protect us, if we move from here what’s to say we do not get ambushed by Ashford men?”

Haegon Blackfyre snorted then. “I had forgotten what a craven you were Strickland. No if we stay in Ashford we leave ourselves open to the chance of being laid siege to, and a siege could drag on for moons, or a year. We have neither the time nor the supplies to manage such a thing. We must strike out and we must do so now.”

“At what cost though Ser? If we stay we might starve that is true, but Tyrell will march north in the end if he wishes to keep his head. His own men will push for a quick siege or battle. But we might lose more men than they, for a lack of experience and the fact that after all we are sellswords.” Ser Tristan Hill said.

“Haegon has the right of it.” Bittersteel said speaking clearly to prevent any arguments breaking out. “If we remain here, we leave ourselves open to a siege, and I have not the patience for the consequences that would bring. No, if we are to meet Tyrell and his men, let it be on the field of battle. We shall march from here tomorrow at dawn.”

Monterys Blackfyre spoke then. “Who shall have the command my lord?”

Bittersteel was silent for a moment before replying. “I will not deign to give orders for the command of Lord Osgrey’s host that is for him to decide. As to us, I shall lead the reserve, Haegon the van, Ser Tristan the left, the right shall be Ser Desmon, and Ser Balorch of course shall man the archers. Monterys you shall be in charge of the elephants. I want them used sparingly, if at all.”

With that the meeting was ended, and Harrold retired to his own tent, but before he could get some rest he called a meeting of his own lords. His goodbrother and brother, Lord Merryweather Lord Caswell and Lord Ambrose were present in his tent when he told them the news he had heard before finally giving out instructions for command of the host. “Ormund shall lead the van, Ambrose you shall lead the left, Caswell you shall lead the right and I shall lead the reserve. We attack in pincer and we kill all we get our hands on.”

The lords were dismissed and day turned into night and then day again, as the first rays of sunlight peeked through his tent, Harrold was up and ready, armoured in dark green armour with the chequy lion of his house on his breastplate, and the lion helm atop his head he mounted his horse and rode out to take command of his men. They rode forth from the gates of Ashford Castle, and the minute they came across the banners of House Tyrell, the horns were sounded and battle began.

The battle was chaos pure and simple. Men were thrown together in a sea of armour, swords and steel. Harrold swung his sword left, right and centre, cutting through those who got in his way with some effort, he continued swinging, and more and more men began falling to his sword. He sliced through one man, and then sliced another’s arm off in the same movement, and then onwards he went, swinging, hacking and slashing where necessary. Men were falling like flies, their screams resounded and echoed through his helm, but on he fought. Hacking, and slashing, trying to ignore the river of blood that was opening up near the hooves of his horse.

He swung his sword, again and again until his arm hurt from the effort and the strain. His body was littered with bruises, his armour covered with dents, blood was slightly seeping through some of the dents, but on he fought. He cut down man after man until no more came, it did not take long to see why. He lifted the visor of his helm and saw that the Tyrell men were fleeing with some great haste, and a minute later he heard the trumpeting and the bellowing of the Golden Company’s elephants. The day was theirs it seemed. Later as they camped at the ridge, they were told of the victory, and capturing of Lord Garse Tyrell who would be given as a prisoner to Goldengrove where he would spend the rest of the war. Their march north began some three days after the battle of Cockleden, the same day the Dornish forces appeared in the Reach.

* * *

 

**Ser Borros Hill**

There were some advantages to being a bastard he had found. For one he did not have to deal with half of the tension and pressure his true born siblings most likely had to endure. Of course Borros had never really met his half siblings, his father had died before he had been born during the second Blackfyre War, and his father’s wife had wanted nothing to do with him. Borros had not even known he was the son of a Reyne until his grandfather had one day shown up at his mother’s home and taken him with him to Castamere, from that day he had been his grandfather’s shadow. Wherever Robb Reyne went you would find Borros at least that was the case until he turned nine and his grandfather was sent to the Black cells for some crime or the other.

Then Borros’s uncle the former Lord Damon Reyne had taken him on as a squire, but the man had died during the third Blackfyre war, and Borros had been sent away from Castamere by pressure of his half siblings mother. He had returned when his step mother had died, and had been knighted by his other uncle Ser Terrence Reyne, the castellan of Castamere whilst his cousin Lord Beron Reyne was held hostage to the throne. His cousin would be dead now, for his actions. Strangely enough he did not really feel any sort of regret, he was a bastard after all and he had been told from birth that people like him were traitorous by nature, why fight it if it was expected of him?

His other cousins had either died or were being held prisoner in Castamere until the war was over. Borros sincerely hoped that Aegon Blackfyre gave him a legitimization once this was all said and done, after all Castamere would go to the dogs if it was given to his cousin Domeric, the boy was dumb as a septon and had no common sense whatsoever, let alone martial prowess. He supposed that was why these lords he saw before him had joined him, they followed strength in the Westerlands, and the chaos at the Rock had made them consider another viable alternative, and now here was Borros the Red Lion embodied and they were willing to fight for him.

He’d done some fighting before the lords had actually agreed to come to his side, Lords Vikary and Lydden had proven stubborn, but Borros had brought them to heel. Their holdfasts were now smoking ruins, and they would give him their troops or they would die. Marbrand had been a problem, but Borros had seen to it that he was slain at Pembroke, and his heir had not tried to put up anymore resistance, their numbers had swelled after that. Lord Lefford had been amiable to joining him as well, it seemed the man bore a grudge against his step mother for apparently swindling gold and other riches from the tooth, he wanted recompense for that, and seemed to think Borros would be apt for that. He did not mind, not truly, for with Lefford came gold, supplies, women and of course Plumm and Greenfield.

He knew Lannister had won a victory against the Ironborn at sea, and whilst the Ironborn’s defeat and the death of Rodrick Greyjoy was a sad thing and a pain, it would not hinder Borros’ plans, he would win this battle that was coming up and he would destroy the Lannisters once and for all. Remove the stain upon the Westerlands that the golden lions had become, with their petty squabbles and weak lords.  Tion Lannister was a fool, strong as an ox, but not smart at all, as he thought about that, perhaps it might be best if he killed Tion but let his weakling brother Tytos live, after all such a man could be manipulated if need be.

He knew what his lords would say, Crakehall would boom and jest and tell him to kill all the lions, all the while forgetting Borros was one, Lydden would simper and agree with Borros no matter what he said, Vikary would growl and scowl, Lefford would say to do what was best for the Westerlands, only Tarbeck would give him a clear opinion as he had done when the suggestion of marching straight for the Rock had been brought up. “DO that,” Tarbeck had said. “And we shall be broken and die against the walls of the Rock. Lord Tion’s host will be the hammer and the Rock the anvil. No doing something like that would be suicide. We must draw Lannister out to face us on terrain that suits us.”

And so they had, they had moved from Ashemark where there were walls penning them in, to Pendric Hills where there were hills and cover for their men. The scouts Lannister had sent out where captured and tortured for information, and then killed or sent back with false leads. A few men were sent out towards Lannister’s host giving them a good run for their money, all the while they moved on from the hills towards the Lion’s claw, a steep path that would give them all the possible benefits and nothing to Lannister. It had been a month since Lannister had landed, two months since his defeat of the Ironborn.

A game of cat and mouse they were playing, and a game it was worth. Lannister was by all means not a patient man, as likely to smash his own host to bloody pieces trying to catch Borros and his men, than go in for the quick kill and see the game for what it truly was. Borros knew how to wait, he had waited his whole life for this moment, to slay a Lannister and fuck another. He had his eyes on the prize, Cerenna Lannister, the sister of Tion Lannister, a beauty and she would be his, she was his already, he had caught her at Ashemark and she had become his whore, and now he meant to marry her should all go well.

A horn blew, he drew his sword. The battle had begun. He spurred his horse on and they two hosts met in a clash of steel, the sound echoing down the valley. Drawing his greatsword with two hands he swung and swung and swung, men were hacked down as they came, crying out and bleeding before him staining his armour, but he rode on cutting down more and more Lannister, Banefort, whoever they were it mattered not if they came in the way of his sword and his path they died.

On it went, hacking, slashing, cutting, ducking, and dodging. More men fell to his sword than he could count, his armour was growing stained with blood and gore and mud, his arms feeling heavy and still he rode on. Cutting down men more experienced than him, all were eager to kill the rebel leader, but their confidence was their downfall. Swings they would normally block cut them and killed them, and their swings lacked strength or purpose grazing where they should have cut, and so it went.

More men were dying by the second he could hear their cries through his helm and the din of battle, or were they the din of battle it was hard to know. Soon enough it mattered not, for there before him dressed in red armour was Tion Lannister, both men roared at each other and then the lions danced. Steel on hammer, the sparks flew, strength against strength, both men struck the other, denting, cutting, bleeding only to pull away and begin again.

Adrenaline coursed through Borros’s skin as he fought Lannister, swinging his sword, ducking the hammer, nicking the man’s armour, having his own dented. He did his best to avoid the full swings and was largely successful, tire the man out he thought and then he would win. He danced round the fringes drawing Lannister away from his safety net, and from his comfort zone, his frustration began to show as his swings became more erratic.

There it was the opening, Borros spurred his horse on swung, cut and then backed off again. Swung, cut, back off, and swung cut, back off. One he went doing it again and again until they were both tired and bleeding. Then with one final push Lannister swung the hammer, Borros got his sword up in time and sparks flew as they both pushed against one another, both men felt their arms weaken their resolve weakening, their men fighting around them, and then Lannister’s hammer fell away pushed by sheer strength and will. Borros used all his might to bring his sword up and thrust it through Lannister’s throat.

He pulled his sword out and Lannister fell to the ground, Borros dismounted, killed a man who came to close, and then got his squire to hold the body whilst he hacked the head off. He sheathed his sword, gave the head to his squire before mounting his horse, he then took the head from his squire and rode on holding the head of Tion Lannister up high when he came to the top of the valley, he stopped took his helm off and bellowed. “Your lord is dead!” His squire took up the call and then thousands more did as well, soon the fighting stopped as all turned to look at him. He held Lannister’s head up high and roared.”Tion Lannister is dead, the Lannisters are done. Give up now and you shall be spared. Continue fighting and you shall be slaughtered.”

One by one the men began throwing down their weapons, and soon enough one of his own men threw Tytos Lannister at his feet clamped in chains. “We found this one trying to escape Ser. We thought you might wish to speak with him.”

Ser Borros nodded and then dismissed the men who had brought him. “Ser Tytos, or should I call you Lord Tytos? I suppose, but of course you shall remain a prisoner now, and you shall order your men to join us or you shall die and House Lannister will end.”

The man did as he was bid, and then was sent to the Tooth in chains where he would rot. The next day with the wreckage of the battle still plain to see Borros called a meeting of his lords, all of them attended, Crakehall, Brax, Banefort, Lydden, Westerling, Vikary, Tarbeck on and on the list went. “My lords, we have won an impressive victory here. But that is just the beginning if we want more rewards we must help the true king. Now what news do we have from the east Lord Lefford?”

“A rider came from the tooth this morning, my daughter writes that it appears as though Riverrun is in ruins or near enough. There was a fierce battle there between the riverlords who are fighting for the Targaryens and the northmen, the northmen won and Riverrun is being pulled down brick by brick as we speak. The riverlords fighting for the black dragon are marching for Harrenhal according to what my daughter has heard.”

“Then it is simple what we must do.” Lord Crakehall said in his booming voice. “We march for Riverrun and we join the Winter Dragon, and we give them our 10,000 swords and we win.”

“Aye and we shall show the Dragons that we are not to be taken lightly. For too long have they looked down on us and treated us as scum. It is time we showed them why the Westerlands were so feared in ages past.” Lord Lydden said.

“So we are in agreement then?” Borros asked. “Very well, we march for Riverrun in two days time. And this time the Black Dragon shall win.”

And so it was that on the sixth day of the eleventh month of the 232nd year after Aegon’s Landing that the Westerlands formally declared allegiance to the Black Dragon and marched for Riverrun. It seems at present as if all the stars were aligning, could this be it? The day when the Black Dragon won? Fate will tell, only fate and the gods.


	38. Zero Hour

**Lord Commander Theon Stark**

Yet another war, yet more destruction. Sometimes, Theon did wonder if there would ever be any peace, and then he would remind himself of the vow his brother had sworn to their elder brother. Daemon Blackfyre had been dead for neigh on forty years now, and yet his ghost still haunted the seven kingdoms. Theon knew he certainly he haunted his brother and king’s dreams and perhaps waking hours. With each failed Blackfyre war, Theon had watched his brother spiral more and more into his obsession, his desire to seat one of their brother’s descendants on the throne outweighing all else. Daeron was lucky his lords would die for him so willingly; otherwise he was likely to have seen a mass revolt on numerous occasions.

Still the north had thrown back an invasion from the southerners led by Lords Mallister and Rivers. Both men were dead now, their bodies rotting somewhere in the swamps of the neck, and the north had marched southwards. At the Twins supplies had been given to them by young Walder Frey, now married and with children of his own, all three of them weasly just like their father. From the Twins they had learnt of the fight between the black dragon’s supporters in the riverlands and the Targaryen’s supporters. Lords Shawney, Butterwell, Ryger, Smallwood, Vance and Potts had all rebelled and fought a feisty battle with the royalists, the result a retreat and a stalemate.

Theon had seen his brother’s eyes go hard as ice then, and so they had marched with great haste burning as they went, and then a battle had been fought outside the walls of Stone Hedge, and on Barbra’s Teats, they had fought the Brackens and the Darrys and the Mootons and won. Lord Bracken was given over to Quentyn Blackwood, and the Blackwoods finally had justice for the toll their enemies had exacted on them some years ago. But there was no rest, not yet atleast, from there they had marched for Riverrun, and outside the gates of Riverrun had fought a host led by Lord Robin Tully. The battle had been brief but bloody, Theon had slain so many men that day that he still sometimes saw red when he slept or even closed his eyes. And yet they had emerged victorious and Riverrun was now theirs, though Aegon Blackfyre had ordered it pulled down brick by brick, and so that was what had kept them at the fish’s fortress for so long.

Other news had reached them brought to them by Ser Borros Hill and his Westerlords. The bastard of Castamere spoke in neutral tones as he told of them of the fight between Lord Lannister and Lord Rodrick Greyjoy on the Sunset Sea, of Greyjoy’s death and the Ironborn’s retreat. He told them of how he had fought the Lannisters and their allies at Lions’ Claw, and won slaying Tion Lannister and holding the new lord of the Rock hostage at the Tooth. Borros Hill and his men had bent the knee to Aegon Blackfyre, in exchange for more gold and plunder and a legitimization for Hill, something Aegon had been more than willing to give him.

More news began to float in the longer they spent at Riverrun watching the castle being knocked down. The reacherlords loyal to the Targaryens had fought a great battle with the Golden Company and those reacherlords led by Lord Harrold Osgrey in the land just east of Highgarden. The Black Dragon’s supporters had won, and Lord Garse Tyrell was now a prisoner in Goldengrove, the Golden Company and the reacherlords were marching north to meet up with them now. Though they had all heard of how the Dornishmen had finally mustered and moved from the Prince’s Pass, the Dornish snakes only had 5,000 men though Lord Yronwood managing to keep his allies out of the fight for now.

He looked at the woman sleeping beside him in the bed and smiled slightly. Jeyne had never looked so beautiful to him as she did in that moment, her hair spread-eagled on his chest, he had loved her since they had both been children, and she had loved him since they had been growing as adults. They had joined the Winter’s Guard to avoid having to marry anyone, and so had kept to their affair, before breaking it off due to fear of shaming the King and the reputation of the guard they held so dear. But now, now they were older and wiser and coming closer to death, and so they cared not, their sworn brothers and sisters said nothing and the king chose not speak of it.

The Queen had remained in Winterfell, Theon remembered, to help Prince Jonnel rule Winterfell and the north whilst her husband was in the south. Two of their sons Jorah and Brandon were fighting in the south alongside Theon and Daeron, Brandon was in the Winter’s Guard and had proven himself at Riverrun, Jorah fought like Daeron and had proven himself as well. And then there was Aegor, the crown prince to the north, bitter and bold and so much like Daeron that both of them were at loggerheads more often than not. Though Theon knew his brother loved Aegor fiercely, he had a hard time explaining that and his obsession only made things worse.

He heard the stirring in the camp, and got out of bed, Daeron must have called for camp to be broken. Jeyne stirred as well and so they both got dressed and made love one more time, and then they walked out of their tent and saw what the commotion was. Riverrun’s walls were falling down more and more, bit by bit, the Blackfyre lad was standing there admiring his orders, and the Tullys or what was left of them were watching from the prisoner’s camp. Theon felt sorry for them, they had not asked for this, for another war and a vengeful Blackfyre, black or red the boy still seemed to be slightly mad like his ancestors, and that worried Theon even if Daeron could not see it.

“Nuncle,” he heard his nephew Brandon say. “Father is looking for you. He wants you in the command tent.”

Theon sighed, kissed Jeyne on the cheek and then walked towards the tent which had the sigil of House Stark flapping from its top, a grey direwolf and a grey dragon combatant. He entered and found Daeron already present along with their cousin Edwyle, Lords Umber, Manderly, Ryswell, Glover, Dustin, Karstark, Dreadstark, Berstark, Cassel, Blackwood and the mountain clan chieftains were all there from the north. From the Westerlands, Borros Hill, Lords Lydden, Crakehall, Vikary, Westerling, Marbrand, Banefort, Brax and Tarbeck were present. Daeron cleared his throat and then spoke. “Our scouts have returned and reported that the Arryns are moving down towards Harrenhal in the east. There has been fighting between the Reacherlords and the Stormlords, as well their flames can be seen for miles around. Maekar rides with his host as well. War shall soon be here.”

“I say we march now and deal with the false king.” Lord Crakehall said his voice booming.

“That is what Maekar wishes for us to do you fool.” Lord Karstark said. “He wants us drawn out of here and away to a place that will be favourable to him. After all with the Arryns coming down with their might, and however many Crownlords have answered his summons he will have roughly 40,000 men compared to our 30,000 men.”

“Ah but we are more blooded in battle. Maekar Targaryen’s men are untested and green as grass, especially Lord Arryn’s men.” Lord Umber countered.

Aegon Blackfyre spoke then. “It matters not who has the more experience, the battle will come to us today, and we must be prepared.”

There was more bickering and then Daeron spoke. “Enough, this meeting was only called so I could listen to reason, but since none of you seem to have any, I will tell you what I have decided. Ser Borros, lead your westermen south towards Harrenhal, and engage the Valemen the riverlords will rally to you as you ride, engage them and Lord Umber shall lead some of our men to aid you as well. As for the rest of us, we shall engage Maekar’s host. I shall lead the van, Lord Manderly the left, Lord Ryswell the right and Lord Dreadstark the reserve.”

The meeting ended and then, Theon found him speaking with Jeyne once more. “The king has asked me to command the rearguard that will flank the van.” She said her voice soft, her hands on his face.

“My brother is taking no chances I see. Who are you guarding in the rearguard?” Theon asked.

“Aegon Blackfyre. The king does not want him thrown into the action like he was last time.” Jeyne replies.

Theon nods, kisses her and then says. “My brother seems determined to protect all of the main family as well; Brandon rides in the right with Edwyle, Jorah in the van with Asphell protecting him. Aegor has me and Rickard protecting him. Old men all of us.” He laughed slightly.

Jeyne kissed him fully then. “I shall see you once the battle is done my love.”

With that they departed and Theon mounted his horse, took his helm from his squire and put it on and drew his sword from his sheath ready and waiting for action. He did not have to wait long, a war horn blast signalled their march, and soon enough they were closing in towards the enemy lines. He heard his brother roar a command and then they were all charging towards the enemy.

The impact at first was crushing and then the adrenaline kicked in and his nerves were forgotten. Hacking, hacking, hacking on he went cutting through men, one man came and one man fell, ten men came, and ten men fell. On it went, hacking, slashing, cutting and ducking. He was struck briefly on the arm, the offender was cut down and never got up again, on it went, on and on and on and on. Hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing. More men continued falling to his sword, the bodies piled around him like some sort of ocean, blood everywhere, on the ground, on his sword, on his armour.

More men continued to fall to his sword, hacking, slashing, ducking, dodging, cutting. His training and instincts kicked in, had already kicked in, the adrenaline was keeping him going, making sure he did not feel the pain when a sword or an axe hit him, making sure it only spurred him on. He ran through more of the southerners, cutting them down to shreds, hacking, slashing, hacking and slashing. On and on it went, bodies filled his vision, they were piling up on top of each other, on and on. More blood, more swords, more cuts, more hacks and more slashes.

He fought two men in white cloaks and brought them both down, neither one a match for him even in his old age. His sword was stained red, the sounds of the rest of the fighting were just distant noises to him, he spurred his horse on and cut down another man, and then another, and then another. More bodies added to the pile, a giant of a man came towards him wielding a mace, he ducked the swing, ducked another, nicked then man, ducked a swing, and then slash, thrust, parry, slash, cut and hack and the man fell down dead.

That’s when he saw her. Jeyne fighting three men at once, one of the men seemed quite wounded judging by how limp his sword arm was, Theon did not want to take any chances though and so he spurred his horse on cutting through those who got in his way. He killed the man with the limp arm in one single thrust at his throat. The other two men soon diverted their attention toward him, and he cut down one man with two thrusts and a jab, the other took more time, cut, parry, thrust, block, parry, cut, slash, hack, cut and then a slash and the man crumpled off his horse to the ground.

He looked for Jeyne and found her slumping on her horse, and it was only then that he saw just how bad her wounds were, “Jeyne!” he called. No response, he spurred his horse toward her, and sheathed his sword and dismounted and helped her down off her own horse. She was non respondent the blood continuing to flow out of her wounds, he checked her neck no pulse. So wrapped up was he in his grief and the loss of his love that he never felt the axe cleave through his head.

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

“Bittersteel has taken the bait.” Lord Domeric Bolton said in that cold icy voice of his.

The assembled lords murmured their happiness. The trap had been set, his father had co-ordinated with Lord Corwen Baratheon, and so the Stormlord ever eager for revenge after what the Golden Company had done to his lands during the last Blackfyre war had called his banners and had marched from Storm’s End to Little Bridge where their spies had told them the Golden Company had been camped. Bittersteel must have tried to give Baratheon chase, and as such would soon meet his end.

His father was silent for a long time before he replied. “That is good, what of Daeron Stark? What has he done?”

Lord Bolton was silent and then said. “He marches for Ivy Holdfast where my men have told him we are camped, he will not expect to find us here, and that shall be our salvation Your Grace.”

“How do we know Stark won’t see this plan for what it is? After all he is older now and much more seasoned.” Lord Montague Celtigar asked.

“Because Stark’s bannermen will be hungry for more war, just as they were last time. And they cannot wait for reinforcements from the south not with the Vale marching swiftly down the Bloody Gate.” Lord Bolton replied.

King Maekar voiced his agreement. “It is true; Daeron will not wish to be surrounded by two hosts when the battle comes to. If Corwen is successful, the Golden Company shall break and the Reacherlords will face a tough task fighting Oldtown and Dorne.”

“What would you have us do now then Your Grace?” Lord Orton Massey asked.

Aegon’s father looked at Massey in contemplation. “We march. We bring the fight to Stark, and we win.”

“Is that wise Your Grace?” Bolton asked.

“It might not be, but the time for wiseness is long since passed. The Lothstons hover between both sides, and Daeron Stark grows stronger. We fight now, and we win. No questions asked.” Aegon’s father replied. Murmurs of agreement and then. “Lord Bolton you shall lead the left, Lord Massey the right, Aegon the van and I shall command the reserve.” With that his father dismisses the other lords from the tent and only he and Aegon remain.

They are both silent for a moment and then Aegon asks. “Are you sure Bittersteel will not just wheel around and try and attack us from the rear?”

His father sighs. “If you had asked me that question before Redgrass I would have told you that Bittersteel would not give up the chance to fight a foe that was weaker than him. Now though, now I am not sure. But it is a gamble we must take if we want any hope of winning.”

“That is a lot of lives to stake on a gamble father. Surely someone else could have been given command of that particular task, and not Corwen. The man is brave and daring, but he is not subtle, surely Bittersteel will realise something is amiss when his reach allies do not join him.” Aegon asked.

His father sighed once more. “That is true, but still we must keep in mind that Bittersteel is old now, he does not command the company in battle as much as he used to. That has fallen to Haegon Blackfyre, and from what we know Haegon though he is old now, as old as you, he is still too much like his father to give up on a fight where he could win glory. And that will be his undoing.”

Aegon nodded and then asked. “Who will be riding with you in the reserve father?”

His father smiles wryly at him. “Lords Celtigar, Velaryon and Bar Emmon and their men. I trust them though whether I am right in doing so is another matter. Still rather them than the others in the left and the right of the army. We must show a united from tomorrow Aegon, this battle could last for a long time.”

Aegon nods and then takes his leave of his father. As he walks back to his tent, Ser Duncan following behind him, he thinks about the events that have led them to this moment. There had been peace for some time, admittedly it was a shaky one, but it was better than nothing. It seemed that both sides were keen for a peace that could last, though Aegon suspected that Daeron Stark was simply biding his time waiting for the Targaryen hold on the throne to weaken even further before rising in rebellion once more. And it truly nearly had, when Aegon had found out that assassins had been sent after his brother Aerion he had not been sure what to feel, relief or anger. In the end it had been a mixture of the two, and he had only been happy to know that Aerion’s children and wife had survived the attempt, Aerion had apparently gone mad with rage and had tortured those sent after him.

It had taken some time but eventually the truth who had sent the assassins had come out. His father’s former master of whispers, Ser Michael Stone, someone who had always been known as a devoted follower of the deceased Bloodraven and someone who they know knew wanted anyone but Maekar or his descendants on the throne, though he was also prolifically anti-Blackfyre. Aegon knew that the man was no more, though how he had come to be no more he did not wish to know, though he suspected that Lord Bolton had finally been allowed to live up to his house words. Still it was hard to say whether or not Bittersteel had used the attempt as just the excuse he needed for the war to begin anew.

Before Bittersteel and the Golden Company had invaded, the riverlords Shawney, Butterwell, Lothston and others had risen up in rebellion against Riverrun and battles had been fought and a stalemate reached. Then the Golden Company invaded the Reach and the wealthiest kingdom was plagued with civil war, then the Ironborn invaded the Westerlands and it kept spiralling out of control until eleven months into the fighting, King Maekar called his banners and marched to war.

Aegon entered his tent and sat down on the bed, sighing. He’d left a lot more than the court behind this time. He’d left his wife and their children. Duncan of course was here present as he was squiring for Lord Velaryon, but his eldest son was only eleven years old and hopefully would not actually face all that much fighting in the reserve. His other children were back in King’s Landing, with plans for them to flee to Dragonstone should anything go awry here. Jaehaerys was nine and so frail sometimes Aegon wondered whether something about Targaryen interbreeding had caused his son’s frailties, Rhaelle was just like her mother, stubborn and headstrong with an ability to voice her opinions at the most inappropriate of times. And Aelix was only two years old but already he had a deep sense of mischief and glee about him. He loved them deeply, and feared for them if this should all go awry.

Not for the first time he cursed his great grandsire for being so stupid as to give Blackfyre to the bastard Daemon, if he had just followed tradition and given the stupid sword to Aegon’s grandfather then perhaps some of the rumours that had started the rebellion would have been avoided, alternatively Aegon sometimes thought that his grandsire should have just had the brat killed in an accident before all this foolishness happened. The Blackfyres continued to fight and cause deaths and destruction to the kingdoms they insisted were theirs to rule by right, when whatever proof they had of his grandfather’s illegitimacy had either never existed or had died with Daemon Blackfyre. The fact they continued doing so well was solely because of Daeron Stark, and if that man were to die then their cause would fall to pieces.

The whole camp knew that and as such wagers had started as to whom would be the one to have the honour of slaying the Winter Dragon. Aegon fell asleep that night dreaming that it was him who drove Dark Sister through the bastard’s old throat.  He awoke the next morning just as dawn began creeping in and the sunlight was fighting the clouds for purchase. He was dressed and armoured soon enough, and walked outside to find Dunk standing guard. “How long have you been on duty Ser?” he asked.

His old companion smiled slightly. “Not too long Egg. Just for a few hours I awoke with the crowing of the birds.”

“Any more news about where the northmen are?” Aegon asked.

Dunk shook his head, and then a horn was blown. Both of them stood stock still then and then marched towards where their horses were tethered, they mounted their horses and then put their helms on, and rode out to find the van already assembled with old Ser Boremund Crabb barking orders at the men, he nodded at Aegon when he saw him ride up, Aegon lifted his helm up then and barked. “We fight today and we shall win.” Cheers erupted and then a second horn blast and the battle began for good.

The battle is like none he’s ever fought in before; he knows that from the minute he first slices through some Northman. There’s electricity in the air that was missing in previous battles, it’s almost as if both sides are filled with so much adrenaline they both know that there will only be one winner and the winner today might decide the fate of the rest of history for Westeros. He uses this knowledge to spur his horse on hacking and slashing, cutting a bloody path through the northmen, trying to find the Stark bastard, one quick kill and the suffering will be over.

Dunk is like his white shadow, wherever he goes Dunk soon follows Dunk cuts and slashes more elegantly, but Aegon fights with proficiency and the urgency of one of royal blood. Together though they paint the ground red and open up an ocean of bodies and blood and gore. On they ride, hacking and slashing and hacking and slashing, more men fall to their blades, Dark Sister is painted in red, covered with the insides of other men who have died fighting for what? A pretender, gods the thought makes him angry and the anger fuels his strength to keep going even when he feels his body begin to ache.

That is when he comes face to face with a Stark, not the Stark he wants to face but a Stark nonetheless. He only knows that he is fighting a Stark by the presence of two grey cloaks and the direwolf pacing next to the man. They circle each other and then one of the grey cloaks lunges for him, and Aegon does a slash, parry and then a thrust and the soldier slumps down dead. The Stark watches this impassively before advancing forward at the same time that his other guard moves forward to fight Dunk. They circle and then steel on steel, they break apart and then they move towards each other once more, swinging, sparks flew and cuts and dents were made.

Aegon could feel the tiredness beginning to creep into his system then, the Direwolf that the man had was scaring his horse, another few moments and he’d either be killed or thrown off his horse. Thankfully Dunk managed to deal with the other guard that the Stark lad had, making it so that it was now two on one. Still the direwolf is causing problems, Aegon tilts his sword to one side and out the corner of his eye he sees Dunk tilt his sword towards his own, the two tap each other and then they move forward, the trick in place.

The Stark lad advances his sword raised, he slashes at Dunk, Aegon jabs at his ribs, managing to spook his horse and cause him to miss Dunk, the direwolf leaps towards Aegon but is knocked down by the horse. The Stark curses, and then tries again, this time going for Aegon, whilst his Direwolf lunges for Dunk; Aegon blocks the man’s swing whilst Dunk uses his strength to grapple the direwolf to submission. A loud crack signals then direwolf’s death, and the Stark convulses with pain, sensing an opportunity, Aegon launches forward and swings and hacks with abandon, Dunk joins in and soon enough they are slashing and pounding at the Stark who without his sword is powerless to defend himself, eventually their beatings prove useful and the Stark lad falls of his horse bleeding to death from a thousand wounds and cuts.

A small victory, though when they later learn that they killed Prince Aegor Stark the crown prince of the north and his direwolf Serron they will celebrate into the early hours, for now though they ride on seeking more battle.


	39. Dance of Death

**Ser Aegor Rivers**

His whole life seemed to have been just one big massive struggle. The life of a bastard even a royal bastard had been a hard one, when his father had dropped his mother and taken up with Blackwood whore, his mother had died drinking her own bodyweight in wine and Aegor had effectively been an orphan. The king’s hand Lord Peake had brought him to court in an attempt to curry favour with his father, and as such Aegor had grown up, really grown up in King’s Landing using his anger and his strength to become the best warrior he could be. He was nothing compared to Daemon or Daeron though, even at a young age he had seen how skilled and charismatic the two of them were and would be, and a small part of him admitted that that was what had fuelled some of his early anger and bitterness.

The rest had been fuelled by his father’s death and that weakling Daeron the Good he was called coming to the throne, and preferring the way of the book to the way of the sword. The Dornish snakes who had caused so much blood and destruction on Westeros were being rewarded with influence and power, and the nobles who had bled for the throne were forgotten, resentment grew and Aegor had grown with them. Daemon had wed some Strickland woman, long dead now and had sired son after son on her, whilst Aegor had watched the love of his life flit her way through men and Bloodraven. He had gotten the last laugh on that kinslayer though for the last years of her life Shiera had warmed his bed and Bloodraven had never heard her say she loved him, Aegor knew his love had loved him back towards the end.

His own wife was dead as well, dead from some sort of fever whilst they had been away waging war in Slaver’s Bay. She had born him five children, the eldest of whom served as Aerion Targaryen’s squire, but had died whilst they had been fighting in the Reach. His second son Baelon was his own squire, a good lad if a bit on the short side, he had the makings of a very fine commander and warrior, though Aegor knew he would likely not live long enough to see him into command of the company. This war had extracted a heavy toll on him, his body no longer healed as quickly as it used to and his reactions were much slower than before.

He also found that the will to continue the fight, and the struggle and the arguing with Haegon about which direction the company was going in were wearing on him and making him feel older than his sixty one years, he felt a hundred. There were times in the past few years when he had been tempted to simply give up and die in peace in Tyrosh, but then something would come back to haunt him and stir him from his slumber and apathy. Whether it be the sight of Daemon’s body buried by arrows or the sight of his mother drinking herself to death, it mattered not something always managed to get him angry again, and willing to raise the flag of the golden company once more, for one more round.

Unlike other campaigns, this campaign had left Aegor feeling uneasy. Haegon had planned the campaign and had ordered the men around, taking over unofficially from Aegor, and so far the company had been largely organised though how they had fallen for the trap the Stormlord had set for them Aegor knew not. Led on a wild goose chase away from their allies from the Reach, and their men were being bled dry, Baratheon had led them towards the God’s Eye and the River Road where fighting had been going on between Ser Borros Hill and his westermen against the Valemen and then the Stormlords had retreated into the shadows.

The battle with the Valemen had been bloody but they had managed to force them to retreat. Aegor had rallied the company for one big push and against the walls of the old Mudd Fort, they had smashed the Valemen to pieces, bit by bit. Aegor had slain Jasper Arryn the Lord of the Vale, slashing the man open from throat to shoulder and watching as the man bled to death. He had then slain the man’s brother, Artys Arryn had put up more of a fight then his brother, and Aegor had received a fare share of wounds during their fight, but Artys had died just the same, a sword through his throat and then out again.

With the two Arryns dead, had this been Redgrass the Valemen would have fled, instead that simply added more fuel to their fire and pushed them harder. Lord Royce had led the charge, just as Aegor had at Redgrass and the remaining fight was bloody murder. Hacking and slashing, Aegor had cut a path through the Valemen painting the Mudd Fort red once more, before slaying Royce himself. Still the Valemen continued fighting, until Ser Symond Templeton had ordered a retreat, and thanks gods that man had had the sense to do something like that, otherwise Aegor was convinced that the company would have died there and then.

As it was they had been left with 3,000 of their original 10,000. The Westermen 2,000 of their original 12,000 and the riverlords led by Lord Butterwell some 4,000 of their original 10,000. Lord Denys Lothston had been slain and his brother Lord Damon had retreated behind the walls of Harrenhal, ready for one more attack the man said, but hiding from Targaryen wrath was what Aegor thought, the Lothstons had betrayed Daemon once before what was to say they would not betray the Blackfyre cause again? That was why Aegor had ordered men sent into Harrenhal to kill the Lothstons there and then, they would not be attacked in the rear not again.

The Stormlords were still around as well, camped near the Isle of Faces where Daeron had been crowned king in the north so many years ago. Their men were more rested but less battle tested than Aegor’s own and the alliance he had formed. He wondered how things were going with Daeron in the south against Maekar and whether or not victory would be theirs for once, somehow he doubted it. “Baelon.” He said sharply. “Summon the commanders to the command tent.” His son hurried away to do so and soon enough the commanders entered. Lords Shawney, Butterwell, Crakehall, Tarbeck, Banefort and Brax. Haegon, Aerion and Ser Borros Hill all entered, all of them looked tired and broken but ready for one last push. “My lords, I would know the state of our army and how ready we are for battle.” Aegor said softly.

Lord Helman Shawney spoke then. “Our men grow restless and desperate for a fight my lord. They wish to spend themselves against the Stormlords in one last push. I say we march now and deal with Baratheon once and for all.”

Lord Butterwell voiced his agreement. “Aye, we cannot spend the rest of the war sat here watching our men fade away or die from starvation. The Riverlands are a burnt thing now, we must fight or we must bend. And since we shall never bend we must fight and soon.”

Haegon of course voiced his approval, so much like Daemon but also not. “Aye, the time for waiting is at an end. The Vale have beaten themselves back to behind their mountains, their boy lord is protected but for how long? Dorne is struggling to fight our friends of Osgrey. The Stormlords will get no support from the pretender, we must fight now and we must do so quickly before they can suspect a thing.”

Aerion spoke then and Aegor was surprised to hear him agree with Haegon, so rarely did those two ever see eye to eye on anything. “Aye, I agree with Haegon. The time is now, the Stormlords are cut off from their home by the fighting in the south and the throne is fighting a battle with the northmen that they are sure to lose we must ride now and we must strike soon.”

“Very well,” Aegor began. “How do you suggest we proceed then? They are still camped near the ridge, and as such will be able spot any surprise marches we try and enforce on them. We shall be rained down by fire and arrow and bleed to death before we even get across to them.”

It is Aerion who comes up with the suggestion. “We could always attack at night. The darkness will provide us with cover, and if we send men out early to probe their front lines and kill their sentinels they won’t know what to expect. Baratheon is the sort of man to go charging boldly into the fray blind that will be his downfall.”

A sound plan, but then Butterwell voices his opinion. “Would they not suspect that though? After all it is the only possible option for us to achieve victory.” _This one truly is milk._

“Baratheon is not a patient man my lord. He knows one thing, he knows how to fight. We can sit and wait here and watch everything bleed away or we can strike and we can strike tonight.” Aerion countered.

 _The lad truly has come on; he will make a good leader one day._ Aegor thought. Aloud he said. “What Aerion says is smart; Baratheon will expect us to do something during the day. We move at night and we move tonight. I want all of the men ready and waiting for the orders.”

With that he dismisses the others from his tent and prepares for the upcoming battle, he feels as though this might very well be his last ever battle. If it is he will make sure to bring down a fair few Baratheon men with him. As the sun begins to set a few hours later, Baelon comes to help him put on his armour, the straps tighten and he grimaces slightly, the wound he took during the fighting with the Valemen hurting. He bites his teeth and then he finishes putting on his armour thanks his son and then heads outside where he mounts his fiery red warhorse. Atop the steed he rides out to see where his men are gathered near the base of the lake, and he bellows. “Tonight we ride, let them know our wrath.” The men roar and then he puts on his helm, his son beside him and he raises his sword and sounds the command.

The setting sun provides them with the advantage, for it blinds the sentries to their attack until the early birds are upon them cutting them down. Those who escape are cut down by Aegor and his men in the first line of attack, soon enough they are setting fire to the tents closest to the sentries, burning and roaring for victory. It takes time but sure enough men come stumbling out with weapons and armour on, but they are lax and are cut down sure enough. On it goes, hacking, slashing and burning, the Baratheon men are caught out here and they will pay for that.

Baratheon comes swaggering out of his own tent, war hammer in hand his stage helm on and he bellows for Aegor and so Aegor rides to meet him. Baratheon is ahorse by the time Aegor reaches him, and so they meet in a clash of steel on hammer. Swinging and power, hacking, cutting, slashing, it all happens rather quickly, but soon enough Baratheon hits Aegor with enough force to dent his armour and cause blood to come gushing out of the wound opened. Aegor manages to in his lurch forward slash at Baratheon’s throat, he does not know what happens next all he knows is that the ground is hard and his vision is departing. Aegor Rivers, Bittersteel, founder of the Golden Company dies on the sixth day of the fourth moon on the 233rd year after Aegon’s Landing. Taking Lord Edric Baratheon with him

* * *

 

**King Maekar I Targaryen**

The fighting, gods his whole life was just a fight wasn’t it. He had had to fight as a child to survive when the pox had almost taken him and claimed his twin brother, he had had to fight when his grandfather had decided to invade Dorne and had taken Aelinor hostage, he had had to fight at Redgrass when all he had wanted to do was flee when news of Baelor’s imprisonment had reach them. He had had to fight for all those times in his marriage when it looked like his wife would die giving birth, and when Bloodraven had wanted Aegon made an example of he had fought so fiercely he thought his life would have ended had Aerys not seen sense.

It seemed the gods had made him someone who only knew how to fight; he would fight once more for his throne, a throne he had never wanted, a throne that should have been Baelor’s. He had fought for his marriage to survive after one of Daemon’s idiot followers had raped his wife during the early days of the war, and he had fought for his son when it seemed Bloodraven wanted him dead. Throughout all of that he had become a hard man, a cold man some said, but deep down he still knew what it was to love and to be loved, and he was terrified that this time he might not live to see his children secure in their futures.

The Vale was beaten and bloody, the Westerlands a ruin, the Riverlands burnt to cinders, the Reach was at war with itself and Dorne, Dorne was something that he did not even want to think about. Only the crownlands and the Stormlands remained mercifully untouched by the war though for how long that would last he knew not. All he knew was that it was a long hard road to survival and this time he was not sure if he was going to make it through or not. He had lived for far too long when other more deserving men had died before their time. Baelor for one, that blow still haunted is every waking hour, and Rhaegal and his sweet children, they had all died during a fire, which he thought Bloodraven might have caused or might have been caused by Bittersteel.

His own firstborn had predeceased him as well, Daeron the boy had died sometime ago but the man had died a few years before this war. Dead for a pox he caught of a whore, what a way for a Targaryen to die, but then again his son was not truly a Targaryen, not truly, there was no fire only gas. Aerion was wed to a Blackfyre, and perhaps if Maekar died that might be what brought the peace, though he suspected the Vale would not stand for it nor would Aegon, his fourth son was many things but he had never forgiven Aerion for the torture he put him through as a child.

There had been times since Daemon had died that he had simply cursed his father for not being harder on the man and having him arrested or killed especially after he became king.  Daeron the Good had done many good things during his life, but keeping Daemon Blackfyre alive or able to move around and rally supporters based on those gods damned rumour was not one of his smarter moves. Keeping him at court as well had only made things worse, but of course Maekar could not truly fault his father for doing such a thing, better to keep an eye on him than let someone like Bittersteel have complete control over him. But it mattered not now, for they were at war some forty years after Daemon had died on Redgrass, and he was sure the wars would continue long past his own lifetime that much he was sure of.

The Ironborn had done nothing since fleeing after their defeat at the Sunset Sea, and the Redwyne fleet had been sent to go raiding across the tributaries that the Iron Islands had to take their gold and deplete their resources. Some might have said they could have been used to invade the north, now that it was nearly completely empty of men and resources, but Maekar knew such a thing would be foolish, winter was coming and the southerners he sent would die before they got to Winterfell. No the Redwyne fleet was put to better use elsewhere, besides the Reach itself was in dire need of some form of unity now that Lord Garse Tyrell was a prisoner and his son but a child.

News had come from the north, Lord Edric Baratheon and his men had been set upon by the Golden Company and the rebels and had been butchered either in their tents or in the field. Edric himself had been slain by Bittersteel whilst also killing him in the process. The Golden Company was now lying broken and defeated on the banks of Jonquil’s tears and were looking for a way to retreat back across the narrow sea, broken as they were they would not be of assistance to Daeron or the Blackfyre lad.

There had been word from the south as well, Mors Martell was dead, slain in battle fighting Harrold Osgrey, but the Dornishmen continued fighting, swelled by reinforcements sent by Lord Daltar Gargalen, Maekar’s granddaughter’s uncle. The Reachmen would be kept occupied for long enough he hoped, he needed to deal with Daeron and the northmen otherwise King’s Landing would most certainly fall before winter came.

The death of Aegor Stark and Aegon Blackfyre had nearly broken the Northmen, but they still had two Blackfyre heirs fighting, Jaehaerys and Aegor Blackfyre. And so they continued fighting and the battle was going on now nearing six days, there would be retreats and feints and then more fighting would happen, and on and on it went, going until the setting of the sun where both sides would retreat back to their camps and then start anew on the morn.

“They are stirring once more father.” His son Aegon said by his side. They were all armoured and ready waiting by The Tumbling Man’s Hill, where it is said the Mudds once fought the Storm kings hundreds of years ago in a battle that lasted for nigh on a year. “We need to get to the point of their power father. Daeron Stark must die.”

“Aye son, but the question is how do we get to him? The man is protected by his guards and even those who break through them do not live long enough to see the end of their attempt.” Maekar replied.

“A pronged attack perhaps? If the best fighters in the reserve or the van join together to cut through his guards and then attack him at once surely one of us will land the killing blow?” Aegon asks.

Maekar is silent for a moment and then says. “Very well that might just about work. I shall lead the attack; you continue leading the van son. We cannot all be sacrificed in this.”

When the horn is blown later on that morning battle commences once more. Maekar swings his mace like it is attached to his arm, at this point it more than likely is. He swings, and swings and swings until he can’t swing anymore. And he sees the pile of bodies that are there before him on the ground, their heads kicked in, their armour dented, the blood seeping into the ground. It’s like a scene from a nightmare, his nightmare and he rides on continuing to swing his mace like his life depends on it, in reality it truly does.

His mace meets flesh, steel and armour all the same and beats through them with some force, Maekar is not truly thinking about what he is doing now, he is simply doing it. He learnt a long time ago that the best way to ignore the pain and horror of war was to go inside and never look out whilst fighting. That is what he is doing now, swinging his mace through and through, again and again, hitting, killing and taking the life from men who are doing nothing more than fighting for their king. The blood that covers his mace is red, red like Baelor’s was though Maekar had always thought his brother had blue blood he was so noble and good.

On he went swinging his mace, his arms truly hurt now but still he continued. He felt the sharp jolt of pain that shot through his arms every time his mace connected with an enemy’s skull, and as he watched yet another man fall to his death he briefly wondered whether this fighting would be worth it, any of it. He pushed the thought from his mind briefly when he saw a flash of blue and a dragon banner. He raised his mace high and pointed to the banner, and the lords he had chosen, Bolton, Velaryon, Celtigar, Bar Emmon, Darklyn and Massey all joined up with their men as well, the two knights of the Kingsguard joined him and they rode hard.

Sensing Daeron close by seems to have given him a new lease of life, the pain of fighting no longer seems all that consuming above trying to end this war now, if he can get to Daeron and wear his friend down for long enough he could stand a chance of victory and then there would be no more Blackfyre wars to deal with at least from the north. He barrels his way through the men protecting the Winter Dragon, his mace crushing their skulls or their chests in, and he rides on, blood flowing down from the wounds he himself has taken. He continues riding, swinging his mace for all it’s worth.

Beside him he sees out the corner of his eye, Ser Steffon Storm of the Kingsguard fall to the ground dead from a thousand wounds. He rides on, swinging his mace killing more and more northmen and feeling his head grow weaker with the effort as well, on he rides. Lord Velaryon falls down dead next, his son soon after. On they ride though, the horsemen riding by his side determined to end the threat once and for all. He comes across a Greycloak and the fighting is intense and furious and eventually the Greycloak dies his breastplate caved in and blood pouring out.

A giant of man comes into Maekar’s path, and swinging a massive axe as well, they duel and fight for what seems an age, Maekar swinging and ducking as he has not done since he was a child in the red keep. Soon enough, he learns where the man’s weaknesses are and though he himself is feeling the effects of battle and would dearly love a break, he continues fighting and probing until he finds the weakness he was looking for, a gap between armour and throat, he uses the sharp end of his mace and thrusts it straight into the man’s throat when the man leans forward. The spike finds it’s mark and soon enough blood covers Maekar’s mace and hands.

The man dies and they ride on. The world is beginning to turn black now though, he can’t hear and he can barely see through the fog that has become from his injuries. He needs to find Daeron and yet cannot see him. Tiredness is creeping in as well, and he knows he needs to find Daeron or he will die either from a careless move or from sheer tiredness and blood loss. He spurs his horse on and there, he sees not a white banner but a red one, Jaehaerys Blackfyre it must be. They meet in a clash of steel on steel, mace and mace and strength versus experience, both men give the other wounds serious and lethal alike, Maekar pounds Jaehaerys’s breast plate in with enough force to cause him to bleed severely, but before he can deliver the killing blow he slumps of his horse and falls to the ground,. His wounds have bled out, Maekar Targaryen is no more.

It falls to his son Prince Aegon to rally the forces and force the northmen to retreat back to Moat Cailin all the while both sides see their forces being bled to the extreme. Duncan the Tall kills Jaehaerys Blackfyre, and Daeron Stark kills the three remaining lords who rode with Maekar. With Aegon and Jaehaerys Blackfyre dead the Targaryens seem in control of their destiny and the throne, but with Maekar dead no solid heir chosen, perhaps the Black Dragon can finally claim what they have sought.


	40. Hello Me, It's Me Again

**Queen Dacey Stark**

The fourth Blackfyre war had ended in defeat, Aegon and Jaehaerys Blackfyre’s blood had stained the ground with which the battle had been fought on. Dacey’s husband Daeron Stark, King of the North and the Iron Islands had led the retreat, and there had been so much death and destruction during the war, though it was not as long as the previous war had been. Many of the north’s most valuable commanders had been lost during the war, dead during the battles or from the wounds they received afterward, Lord Ethan Glover Lord of Deepwood Motte, Lord Rodrick Greyjoy Lord of the Iron Islands, Lord Tormund Umber Lord of Last Hearth, the Lords of Karhold and Dreadfort, Bear Island were amongst the notable. All had died and their houses had lost men during the fighting, and for what Dacey could not understand. Another failed war, another dead king, Aegon was wed to Daena, Dacey’s stepdaughter, when Daena had received word of her husband and her son’s death she had gone mad with grief, her suicide two moons ago had not come as a surprise, she had been so torn with grief and sadness, her direwolf had died as well.

Aegor Stark had died as well, Dacey’s stepson, but he might as well have been her own son they were so close. Aegor had become very resentful of Daeron in his later years, feeling as if his father only cared about the dragon scum as he called the Blackfyres, and he felt his father had become a hypocrite. Telling Aegor and his siblings’ one thing and then doing another, bleeding the country dry to feed an obsession Aegor called it. Dacey had thought he was simply angry about the fact that Daeron continued to pressure him into wedding someone from the north or iron islands in order to better secure the succession and to stop fooling around with his bastard cousin Elia Sand. That had been her view until Daeron had come back from the war. Dacey had been a good wife, she had stayed in Winterfell and helped her son Jonnel rule as the Stark in Winterfell but she did not see her husband mourn his sons, Aegor and her Brandon who had died during this war. She did not see him mourn the countless others including his brother Theon who had died during the war, a war he had started, and she could not take it anymore.

She had confronted him one day after he had attended a council session, and had stopped him from doing anything else until he had given her an honest answer. She had asked him if he felt anything, grief or anger it mattered not but she wanted to know if he grieved for his sons and for the countless others who had died during the war, if he grieved for the daughter who had killed herself, her grief was so strong. Daeron had simply looked at her then in silence for a long, long time and Dacey had feared he would never answer her, and then he had spoken his voice soft. “I do not feel anymore. I cannot feel anymore. I must see a Blackfyre on the throne, everything else is secondary.” That was what she had gotten from her husband and his explanation, and it had broken her heart. The Daeron in front of her had not been the Daeron she had married, the man who had been passionate and so full of life. Now he was just a shell, a man on the brink of madness and his obsession was costing them everything.

Already Jonnel had left Winterfell, declaring he did not want to live in the same place as the dragon scum and his father, her baby son had left and gone to Essos to join one of the litany of sellsword companies there. Daeron had done nothing, had not tried to convince Jonnel to come home or even try to communicate with him as far as she was aware. He had simply let it be and had gone on planning and plotting his next move with his council of yes men. Daena had killed herself and Daeron had not batted an eyelid he had simply taken the news stone faced and continued on with his day as if nothing had happened. The man who had cared so much for his children was gone, what this man was who had replaced him Dacey knew not nor was she sure she wanted to know.

And so she had left Winterfell a moon ago, taking her grandchildren Daemon and Gyles (who was Aegor’s bastard son by his bastard cousin Elia who had died giving birth to him) with her to the Wolf’s Den. She did not want her grandchildren influenced by whatever hell their grandfather would soon inflict on the north once more. She had said nothing to Daeron about her plans or the reasons for them; she had simply upped and left during the middle of the night, taking the children as they slept and riding out alongside a warrior of the winter’s guard.  They had arrived at White Harbour some days later, and had been accepted into the city and shown to the Wolf’s Den, the place of Dacey’s childhood, where she had grown up. She had not been back to the Wolf’s Den since before she had left to fight in the Bolton rebellion against her father’s orders.

It was much the same, the massive walls, the wolf head gates were still present and the sounds that would drift in from the city centre still came in. All in all, Dacey found that she preferred the Wolf’s Den to Winterfell, away from court and all the scheming and the bastard yes men her husband had found himself surrounded with. She revelled in being able to meet with the friends of her childhood without a care in the world, and she enjoyed seeing Daemon who had turned five a few days ago come out of his shell and socialise with the other children her brother’s great grandchildren, and Gyles who had turned one sometime ago, was beginning to walk and talk. All of these things she witness and filled her with sadness for the fact that Aegor would never get to see his children live and love and grow because of the war that had claimed him.

Today however was not the time to think such dark thoughts. She was meeting with her brother, her eldest brother Donnel Berstark, lord of the wolf’s den and admiral of the narrow sea. Donnel was the eldest of Beron Stark’s children and the eldest of Cregan Stark’s grandchildren and as such had always had an aura about him that even made Daeron speechless though that had been before whatever madness had gripped him had taken hold. Donnel had always been a pillar of strength, their father’s strong right hand and a very good soldier and lord, he had served on Daeron’s council for a short while before resigning, he kept the title though. Dacey had not had the chance to speak with him before now, for he had been very ill and had just woken up.

Dacey opened the door to her brother’s chambers and found him sat by the window, staring out into the sea beyond. Donnel Stark was an old man now, the oldest of Cregan Stark’s grandchildren had turned sixty eight whilst younger men had been away at war. A once strong man his muscles had been thinned and wasted away, his hair once a magnificent brown was now white, his face was filled with many lines. His ears were still sharp though. “Ah Dacey, so you have come at last.” Donnel said his voice thin.

Dacey sat down in the chair next to her brother’s. “Of course I would come. I have not seen you in so very long brother.”

“I wish I could show you round Dacey, but I am not as strong as I once was and walking has become difficult without aid. Still I am sure Edwyn could show you around if you wished.” Her brother replied.

“It’s fine Donnel, truly I remember my round my old home trust me. I see you removed those ghastly gargoyles that father had here.” Dacey said.

Her brother chuckled then. “Aye, that was Edwyn’s idea as well. He’s a good lad Edwyn, if a tad hot headed at times. Though I suppose I was just as hot headed at his age. Of course father was a much stricter disciplinarian than I am.”

Dacey laughed then as well. “Aye father was quite strict, though he was harder on you and Willam than he was on me and Lyanna and Jeyne.”

Her brother grew somber then. “Aye, but you were his lovely girls he could never harm you. Myself and Willam, well we needed to be disciplined. But they are all dead now, Jeyne, Lyanna and Willam. Only you and I are left of father’s children. And I am dying Dacey, slowly but I am dying nonetheless.”

The thought of a world without her big brother in it terrified her and so she found herself saying. “Don’t be silly Donnel, you’ll outlive us all. You are the oldest and you’ll still be here when we’re all dead and buried. Father always said so.”

Her brother sighed then. “I do not want to live forever Dacey. I have enough demons as it is, seeing you all die would drive me mad. Just as it is driving your husband mad.”

Dacey sighed, so they had reached that topic then. “How much do you know about that brother?”

Her brother was silent for a moment as he always was when they talked of the big things. The he spoke. “I know that this thing Daeron has of fighting for the Blackfyres has gone well beyond duty. It has become an obsession, and obsession that is slowly eroding at his mind and is eroding the loyalty of his lords.”

“How do you mean? Has there been talk brother?” Dacey asked.

Donnel was silent and then he replied. “Talk aye, there has been plenty of talk. Manderly and Flint and Wooldfield all talk about how your husband’s constant warring for the black dragon is damaging trade with Essos, the Targaryens have allies in the east, allies who are cutting of trade. The lords close to the Harbour, Hornwood in particular. They mutter about why the king continues fighting for a cause that is clearly lost. If he keeps doing what he is doing, there will be a rebellion soon enough. And this time the Wolf’s Den will join in.”

 Dacey was stunned. “What do you mean you will join in with the rebels’ brother? Daeron is your brother by marriage, and surely you do not mean to renegade on the oath you swore to him?”

Her brother was angry now. “What of the oath he swore to his people? When he was crowned I was there that day, he swore to always protect his people and uphold their rights and cause. What good a king is he if he continues to waste northern lives in the south? If he wants the south so badly he should take the Iron Throne for himself and leave his grandsons as Kings of the North. The north wants no part in the south and yet your husband keeps dragging her into it. We will never know peace as long as he does this.”

“Then what do you suggest we do brother? For Daeron will never abandon the Blackfyres, he holds his oath to a dead man more dearly than our own marriage vows, and the lives of his children.” Dacey said dejectedly.

Donnel was silent for a long moment and then he said. “We wait, and if his madness continues to worsen our position, then we act. Not until then. Otherwise there will be a full scale civil war in the north, and this time none will side with Winterfell. Edwyn already wants us to rebel; he was the one who suggested the name change. He no longer wants us directly associated with Winterfell.”

“Not after his father died then I take it?”Dacey asked.

“Much before that in fact. Edwyn’s father was my grandson, but after Rodrick my own son died at Redgrass I questioned the whole cause to the south, but father’s hand kept me still. Now with mine own descendants dying for a failed cause I cannot understand why we should keep supporting the dragon scum.” Her brother replied fire in his tone now.

* * *

 

**Maester’s Deluge.**

Maekar Targaryen’s death during the fourth Blackfyre War sparked for the first time since the Dance of Dragons a succession crisis in the Targaryen Dynasty. The king had had four sons, one of whom was Grand Maester of the north and as such was no longer counted as part of the succession, the eldest Daeron the Drunkard had lived up to his name and had died from a drunken night of debauchery having caught the pox leaving behind only a feeble witter daughter, who though she could be used effectively as a pawn would not be truly in line for the throne given the rules of succession that the Targaryens followed. That left just two sons of Maekar Targaryen. His second son Aerion Targaryen who was wed to Shiera Blackfyre, and had served with the Golden Company for sometime, and had three children by the Blackfyre girl. And Aegon Targaryen, Maekar’s fourth son, who was known as a war hero having fought in three previous Blackfyre wars and having commanded in two of them earning some renown for his quick thinking and battle prowess.

The Lords sworn to the Iron Throne were not sure who to choose between the traitor who might bring an end to the fighting, and the war hero who promised his lords plenty and a hard-line attitude to traitors. And so a Great Council the first since the Great Council of 101 A.L. was called, it was held in Harrenhal and all the great lords south of the neck and their most important bannermen attended the council. Lords Lannister, Crakehall and Lefford attended from the Westerlands, Crakehall and Lefford old and wizened Lannister a weakling a mewling Lion cub fresh from the wounds of battle. Lords Tully, Mallister and Bracken attended from the Riverlands, all reeling from victory and the wounds the riverlands had taken once more during the fighting. From Dorne came Martell, Yronwood and Dayne, the divisions there all the more apparent for the evidence that Yronwood would want a Blackfyre on the throne. From the Reach, Tyrell, Redwyne and Hightower came, all wanting Aegon on the throne from the beginning. From the Vale, Arryn, Corbray and Royce, all bearing the wounds of battle, Lord Jon a boy was fiercely proud to be asked to the council. And finally from the Stormlands, Baratheon, Connington and Swann.

Before the lords met for the council, it became clear that the contest was between Aerion and his brother Aegon. For none would ever consider a lack wit be they boy or girl, and none would consider the two men’s younger sisters Daella and Rhae for though they were of the blood they were female and the laws of succession dictated that no female could inherit whilst a male of unquestioned Targaryen blood still lived. Things were weighed more in Aegon’s favour from the off when Aerion Targaryen refused to leave the sanctuary of Tyrosh to come to Harrenhal, the Brightflame prince as he was known in Westeros had said that he would only come to state his case for what was rightfully his if the council was held in Dragonstone and he could attend with a squadron of guards. This demand to the vast majority of the lords made it seem as if the prince was guilty of plotting something, and those lords who were old enough, still remembered his displays at Ashford and other events before his exile and were not so willing to give him this much leeway no matter how much some claimed he had changed. For memories run deep in Westeros and what was can be called upon at any time to be used against one or the other.

Prince Aegon arrived in Harrenhal though, to state his case and to represent himself and his family. When asked by the council of assembled lords why they should make him king, the Prince had been silent for a minute and then replied. “I believe that in this time of war it is important to have a king who can guide the kingdoms through these turbulent times, and as much as my brother claims to be a changed man, we will only know through seeing first hand. I am not willing to stake the future of the kingdoms on the sanity of a man we all know was once stark raving mad, Furthermore, I am wed and have four children who are reaching their adulthood quite soon and as such the line of succession is secure, there will be no threat to them or their future spouses given the stronghold my family has, whereas there would always be doubts over the security of the succession should my brother become king due to his past and current dealings.”

There was much discussion over what Prince Aegon had said, and it seemed as if his little speech had fully swayed the riverlords, those who had always been fiercely loyal to House Targaryen despite their divisions. Even Lord Matthew Bracken son of the Brute of Bracken, whose grandsire had sided with the Black Dragon believed that the king should be one who knew how to fight a war and win it, not one who “Would kowtow to that barbarian and madman Daeron Stark. We want a king who will stand up for us and will now bow to the pressures of outside influence., Aerion Targaryen will do just that if we make him king. My father and brothers did not die so that a coward could sit the throne. House Bracken is for Prince Aegon.”

Bracken’s words caused the other lords assembled to discuss the issue of Daeron Stark and the threat he continued to pose. Lord Tyrell, that boy who thought himself a man spoke then and asked Prince Aegon. “If we made you king my prince, how would you deal with the traitor Stark and the north?”

It was a loaded question for those present knew somewhat of the friendship between King Maekar and King Daeron and of the way in which Daeron Stark had allowed Aegon to leave Winterfell when he could just as easily have kept him a hostage. Aegon Targaryen to his credit held his nerve and replied honestly. “Stark continues to plot treason as far as I am concerned. Past relations matter not to him, and his people bleed, my people bleed for his mad efforts. If I am made king I promise you Daeron Stark and his line shall end and a more suitable house shall rule the north, and we shall have peace.”

That caused quite a stir amongst the lords gathered, and it became more and more obvious that Prince Aerion had harmed his cause by not deigning to attend the council. For Prince Aegon was able to convince the lords present with his words and his promises, and those who were alive when the prince’s uncle was still alive, were reminded of the confidence and surety that Prince Baelor Breakspear had had, and that swayed them. Lord Swann announced that his vote had gone to Prince Aegon within five hours of the council being convened that was two houses for Prince Aegon. None for Prince Aerion.

That did change though, Athell Connington who would later admit that his visit to Winterfell some years before had influence his thinking spoke next and what he said resonated with those lords who were on the fence for most of the rest of the council. “Prince Aegon, whilst I appreciate that you have done much to ensure the peace in the kingdoms, what you say about your brother Prince Aerion does sound as if it is tainted by bitterness and past experience of a man that is no longer there. How do we know that you would be any different? After all, peace is what we all seek and would not Prince Aerion be better for that? House Connington is for Prince Aerion.”

There was more discussion that lasted for a few more days, arguments were given for both sides, and some lords see sawed between one prince and the other, cases were made examples were given, at the end of it all though there could be only one king, and that too went down to the nail, the votes were held once, then twice after Lord Swann announced he had had a change of heart, and then thrice after a recount was needed and the on the fourth time, the result was finalised. Maester Serret sent by the citadel to oversee the council and from whom this account has been taken, announced the result, his tone timber and iron at the same time and the result would have resounding effects for all for years to come. “Prince Aegon has won the council votes, beating his brother by a margin of three votes. All hail his grace King Aegon Targaryen, the Fifth of his name.”

The lords congratulated the new king, and wished him well on bringing the peace back to Westeros once more. Athell Connington Serrett notes hung back from the well wishers, a distant cousin of the new king one could see that he thought a wrong decision had been made, and yet the king did not begrudge him his opinion and as such offered him a position on the small council which Connington asked for time to consider. With the council over, King Aegon sent for his family, Queen Rhae, Prince Duncan, Prince Jaehaerys, Princess Rhaelle and Prince Aelix who were all residing in Summerhall, he asked them to leave for King’s Landing and sent word ahead to the Grand Maester that preparations be made for his coronation and all that would follow it.

Once Aegon had been crowned on the fifth day of the ninth month of 233rd year after Aegon’s Landing, he made fast work of appointing a small council. As hand of the king he named Lord Domeric Bolton a man who had proven his loyalty time after time for the Targaryen family, master of laws was Lord Boremund Swann the man who had named Aegon the king first, master of coin was meant to be Athell Connington but after some long deliberating, Connington refused and so Lord Matthew Bracken was given the position, master of ships went to Lord Tytos Lannister’s younger brother Edrick Lannister a warrior and a smart and shrewd man. Master of Ships was given to Lord Maegon Velaryon, Aegon’s goodbrother though the Sealord’s marriage to his sister Daella, the final new appointment was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Duncan the Tall was given that title, and Grand Maester remained as Maester Justin a capable man albeit a tad slow on the uptake with the reforms the new king was implementing.

The new king spent a great deal of time looking inward trying to aid the kingdom as it healed from a very destructive war, Harrenhal was given to Lord Damien Whent and his family, who had served loyally for centuries since the Targaryen conquest. Lord Tully was given permission to begin the restructuring of Riverrun with higher walls and more posts for sentries and defenders after it had been destroyed twice during the last two wars. Once the peace had been restored to his own kingdom, Aegon looked northward, and to the Stark lord who had caused so much death and destruction to the south. Envoys were sent northward, Lord Swann and Ser Gerold Massey were sent north to bring terms to the so claimed King of the North, peace and the ending of raiding on both sides, should one side break the treaty that would be cause enough for war to begin.

That Stark agreed to the treaty and peace was achieved once more is no surprise. His cause had taken a huge hit after the untold number of deaths during the fourth Blackfyre war and he could not afford to alienate his bannermen by waging more war before they were ready, for sources tell us that the north was a cauldron and that tensions were high all around. Though how true the rumours of treason brewing in the north were we shall never know. Still peace was here for the time being, but the cauldron would boil sooner or later.


	41. Peacemaker

**Grand Maester Aemon Targaryen**

Growing up Aemon had heard stories about Daeron Stark the Winter Dragon. His own father, King Maekar had been very good friends with King Daeron, and as such had told each of his children the tales of what he and his friend had gotten up to as children playing in the Red Keep, those tales did however become sour following the Blackfyre war and Daeron Stark’s continued defiance of the Iron Throne. Aemon’s father had loved Daeron Stark like a brother, and had been fonder of him than he had of any of his actual brothers, and yet Aemon had often heard his father talk about how Daeron Stark had been led astray by those fools Daemon Blackfyre and Aegor Rivers, and how it would bring him nothing but ruin.

Aemon had never known what to make of those words his father spoke, for his father had often been in the shadow of his own siblings and had resented that, and though he felt guilty for thinking this, Aemon had often thought that perhaps his father was resentful of how skilled Daeron was and how he was so well liked. That was until he had actually been sent to serve as grand maester of the northern kingdom, something that both his father and his brother Aegon had objected to strongly. Aemon had arrived in Winterfell to find the north’s royal family fractured and divided, King Daeron was already falling into the state of madness that he now permanently resided in, his quest to seat the Blackfyres on the Iron Throne becoming an obsession something that super seceded all else including the welfare of his kingdom and his family. His firstborn son Prince Aegor Stark a man who would have made a fine king, had been driven to the edge of resentment against his father, for the pain and suffering he was inflicting, Aemon had been there where mere hours after Princess Delena died giving birth to a stillborn son and Daeron Stark had begun speaking of new wives for his son to consider.

Aegor Stark and Daeron’s third son Brandon Stark of the Winter’s Guard had died during the fourth Blackfyre War which had been three years ago now, Queen Dacey had left with the winter dragon’s grandsons and his heir Daemon Stark to White Harbour to take them away from their grandsire’s madness. The king it seemed was not deeply affected by their departure, not like any normal man would be and had spent the past three years dedicating his time to preparing for the next Blackfyre war, training his great grandson Lucerys Blackfyre up for the cause and the war that he was convinced would come. So dedicated was he to the Blackfyre cause that Daeron Stark had completely ignored the grievances that his lords had with him and his constant obsession with the south. Aemon knew the king thought that his lords were just as willing to bleed for the Blackfyres if it meant seating one of them on the throne. He had failed to realise that his lords had raised their banners not for the Blackfyres, who he knew they referred to as dragon scum, but for him and for Winterfell, and for the age old loyalty they had for the Starks. But loyalty would only go so far and some of the lords the whispers had it were planning rebellion.

When the Winter Dragon had learnt of this, he had been determined to raise the banners and crush those who would oppose him and his obsession. It had taken all of Aemon’s skills of persuasion to convince the king that doing so would not only be a bad idea because the north was not at its strongest militarily, but also because if he were to wage war on his bannermen then the Iron Throne would use that opportunity to invade the north and harm the Blackfyres. Daeron Stark was not so far gone or perhaps it was because he was so far gone that he accepted what Aemon said, and merely left it to Aemon to sort out and deal with the northern lords who thought to rebel. That in itself had proven to be more trying than anything else Aemon had ever encountered in his years as maester of the northern kingdom. The northern lords were a proud bunch who all hated the south after years of fighting with the south, and as such were deeply suspicious of whatever Aemon had to say, some such as Beron Umber demanded that the ‘mad dragon cunt’ as he put it come and talk to them himself. Aemon fought hard with both his mind and his words to win the lords over.

He took it upon himself whilst the king brooded and plotted to essentially rebuild the north’s trade, establishing contact with Bravos, a city that had always despised Aemon’s own family. He pointed to the fact that there was peace in the north to set up trade of timber and wood for spices and other plants and foods, that brought gold flowing into the north’s treasury, money that was used to help rebuild the Kingsroad in the north, to strengthen the defences of the neck, and to setting up places for the lords to meet and speak with the king, though more often than not Aemon spoke for the king. Eventually he knew the lords were coming round, and that those who had thought to rebel were losing their interest in such things. Peace had brought good thoughts of the winter dragon to the minds of the people. And as such they merely wished to spend time with their families and not worry about anything else.

Aemon knew though that such thoughts would not last forever if what his brother Aerion had written to him in his letters was true. The Golden Company now commanded by Haegon Blackfyre after the death of all three of Aegor Rivers sons in the fourth Blackfyre war, had recuperated in Tyrosh and after fighting three wars in the Disputed Lands and winning all three of them and taking the plunder offered, had enough gold to fund another invasion. Aerion had written though, that after his anger of being overlooked for the position of King, had decided to take Volantis for himself and so had convinced Haegon Blackfyre to take the Golden Company to take Volantis. Still from what Aerion had described of Daemon Blackfyre’s fourth son it would not be long before there was another war in Westeros for the throne, he simply hoped that it would be after Daeron Stark had died from old age for he did not know whether the lords of the north would tolerate such a thing again no matter how highly they might make of the king now, memories were short, and the bad would outweigh the good.

The council chambers opened, and in walked the council. High Steward Edwyle Stark who looked fifty years older than he actually was, High Shadow Lord Donnor Reed, High Admiral of the Northern Fleet, Lord Edrick Cassel , Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard Asphell Wull, and master of coin Lord Rodwell Manderly. The king once again had decided against attending the council meeting, and was perhaps spending time with his other advisors, the yes men who told him what he wished to hear, not the cold realities. Aemon spoke first. “My lords, I thank you for coming. Now the issues we need to discuss include the trade routes with Bravos and Myr, as well as the issue of the south and what is happening there. Lord Manderly if you would go first.”

Lord Rodwell Manderly, was a big man whether it was fat or muscle Aemon was never sure, but he knew one thing for certain, the man knew how to play the game and had been speaking with the potential rebel lords for many a moon before the gold from Bravos began floating in. “I have good news to report my lords. The north has seen a fifty percent increase in the profits it is making with Bravos and Myr. Both cities seem to be in desperate need of the timber we have to offer them, as well as the fish and other such plunder that Lord Greyjoy and the Iron Fleet bring back from their travails around the world. This gold I have, with the King’s permission used to set up various buildings and organisations for improving the lives of those who were badly affected by the war, and as such more people are out working and tilling our fields and allowing us to sell more for a higher profit.”

That was good news though Aemon knew that the King would likely put such money into funding his war effort, of course none of these other lords could know that. Aloud he merely said. “That is good my lord, and I know his grace will thank you most profitably when he learns of the good your hard work is doing for the kingdom. Now with regards to Myr, Lord Edwyle have you spoken to the ambassador they sent here sometime ago?”

Lord Edwyle Stark, High Steward of the North and a grim man with a formidable reputation, dedicated to his duty but wanting nothing to do with the south, a powerful ally to have, a dangerous enemy as well, Aemon is not sure where he stands with the man. Still he speaks calmly when he responds. “Aye I have spoken to the ambassador. He gave me the usual pitch that all these Essosi do. He wants His Grace to invest in some new venture Myr is developing; something that he claims Haegon Blackfyre is investing in as well. He said that it would aid the Blackfyres in winning the Iron Throne.”

“And what did you say to him my lord?” Aemon asks dreading the answer.

“I told him the north wanted no more war, whether the king wished it or not. I sent him back to Myr alive, but with fear in his heart.” Lord Edwyle replies.

High Shadow Lord Donnor Reed laughs at that and says. “Then you will be glad that you did so my lord. For my sources tell me that Pentos have sent an ambassador to the Iron Throne reportedly trying to sell the same thing that this Myrish envoy tried to sell you. It seems as though the Free Cities are playing both sides for all they are worth.”

“And what is this thing that both envoys are so interested in selling to both sides my lord? Do your sources know what it is?” Aemon asks intrigued.

Lord Donnor Reed shakes his head. “Alas my lord I do not. My sources have not been able to get a clear indication or even a look at what this so called weapon is that the free cities would have us fighting over like a pair of dogs. But it must be something very important for them to send an envoy to the south as well.”

“The Myrish envoy was no clearer with you as to what it was he was trying to sell you Lord Edwyle?” Aemon asks.

Lord Edwyle shakes his head. “No, he merely hinted at what it could do. I do not have time to listen to hints and suggestions. So I sent him on his way.”

Aemon nods and then turns to Donnor Reed once more. “What other news is there from the south?”

Reed is silent for a long moment and then says. “King Aegon Targaryen is expanding the royal fleet, and has been dealing more and more with Lord Tytos Lannister, the man it seems wants the western coast properly defended should another war happen. He has also been in contact with the Prince of Pentos about hiring more sellswords should war come. All in all it seems as if he is preparing for war.”

Aemon nods. “Thank you for that. I want you to keep an eye on the south and the north. We want no more talk of treason to reach the king.”

Reed nods and then before the council is dismissed he asks. “Where was the King today Maester? It is not like King Daeron to miss sessions.”

Aemon is silent and then says. “The king was taken ill, he should be back to full health in a short while.” _And then you will all see just how mad he truly is._

* * *

 

**Queen Rhae Targaryen**

It was a strange feeling knowing she was queen, it was not something she had ever thought of nor was it ever something she had truly desired. She had known that with her father as king there was a small chance that she might become queen but she had never truly considered it as an outright possibility, having always thought that Daeron would become king, that he would stop his whoring and drinking for long enough to assume the mantle of some sort of responsibility should father ever have needed it of him. And yet her eldest brother had never really been one to grow out of childhood where he could do whatever he wanted and not face the burden of his actions, Daeron had died of a pox some years ago his daughter now lived with Rhae and her own children in the Red Keep.

Rhae knew that her father had suffered for a lot of his later life, after the Ashford Tourney and the blow that killed her uncle Baelor, Rhae knew that Maekar, had lived with the ghosts of the past and the guilt of his actions, and all the concerns and hurt he felt about that as well as the fact that his best friend was now fighting for the enemy. Her father had died fighting to defend a throne he had never even wanted, a throne that by all rights should have been her uncle Baelor’s and the reason he had died was because of Daeron Stark and the damned Blackfyres. Those imbeciles who claimed to have the true claim to the throne, simply because of a rumour made up by someone who did not want Rhae’s grandfather to assume the throne many years ago.

The rumour had caused war to constantly engulfing the kingdoms, more often than not brought on by those fools across the narrow sea, Haegon Blackfyre and his ilk. They brought death and destruction to the kingdoms they claimed were theirs by rights. Daeron Stark had brought untold pain to countless numbers of people simply because of a promise he had made to someone who was now a pile of dirt in the ground. His cause, Rhae’s father had told her and her siblings when they were younger were not noble nor were it brave, it was misguided and foolish. So much blood had come from that promise and more was promising to follow, for Rhae knew that Daeron Stark would not stop until he had seated one of those cursed black dragons on the throne that was her family’s by rights and by blood.

Aegon’s hold on the Iron Throne was not as secure as it could have been though, and that was another reason that made her fear that another was would soon loom large on the horizon. Her husband had reigned as king for seven years now, and still all was not completely secure with the kingdoms. The riverlands in particular remained a very divisive region, for there was Lord Walder Frey a prudish man and proud who Rhae knew worshipped the ground Daeron Stark walked on, and as such had always provided him with subtle help whenever he had come calling. Frey might think he was being smart by not calling his banners and marching with Stark, but there were other ways in which one could aid a traitor and a rebel and Frey had done just that. The fact that lords such as Butterwell, Shawney, Charlton and others supported or were linked with Frey meant that Aegon could not enact a harsh punishment on the man, but there were simmering tensions there as well as in the Westerlands.

Rhae had learnt from observing her father and husband at court that, it was important for a ruler to be strong willed and able to command respect, after all the struggles that had engulfed the Westerlands during the previous two decades, when Tion Lannister had been named Lord of the Rock, they had all breathed a sigh of relief, and yet now the man had died and his brother Tytos Lannister had become Lord of the Rock. Tytos Lannister was a weak man who was so eager to please that his bannermen were continuously ripping him off from his gold and his goodwill, that was a problem for someone like Lord Daemon Reyne could very easily raise half the Westerlands for the Black Dragon should he so feel like it. The fact that the man’s bastard uncle Borros Hill had been named a Reyne by the traitor Stark merely made things worse.

There was also the issue of her other brother, Aerion. Aerion the brother who had tormented her and Daella for sometime before he had been exiled by their father for his inappropriate behaviour towards Daella. Aerion who according to the reports that came in at court and council had settled down with a family and was happily married with children, and was sane. He had written her a letter once, when father had died, shortly after the war had ended and she had become queen, wishing her well and asking for her forgiveness for the things he had done. The letter had been written so plainly and with such clarity that for a moment Rhae had not been sure whether her brother had truly written this, or whether there would be some sick joke at the end of it all. She had shown it to Egg, and her husband still so angry with their brother so many years later had simply told her not believe whatever it was that Aerion wrote and that their brother was a traitor who needed to die for his sins.

Still, there were times when Rhae would watch her children, Duncan a man grown now, Jaehaerys so smart and Rhaelle a woman flowered and wed to Ser Edric Baratheon the heir to Storm’s End, and then little Aelix who was squiring for Lord Maegon Velaryon, Daella’s husband Rhae would look at her children playing and fooling about and she would desire nothing more than to engulf them all in her arms and never let them go. She wanted them to know nothing but happiness not the uncertainty that her own childhood had been filled with. And yet, it seemed that such thoughts or hopes would not be possible not with what Egg was planning, in fact that was why she had come to see him, to convince him not to go through with what he was planning.

Her husband, Aegon Targaryen, fifth of his name King of Westeros was hunched over a piece of paper reading it so intently that there were lines appearing on his face creasing his brow. She loved this man, something fierce and yet he could be more stubborn and unyielding than the wall when he wanted to, she needed to make him see sense. “What are you reading my love?” she asked winding her arms around his chest.

“What? Oh this, it’s a report from the Riverlands. From Lord Tully.” Aegon replied sounding distracted.

“What does Lord Tully say my love? Has Lord Walder responded to the letter he was sent?” Rhae asked curiously.

Aegon sighed. “No, Walder Frey continues to remain defiant, and so long as he has the support of the Charltons, the Brackens and the Vances he can remain so. Lord Tully merely told me what he has learnt from his goodbrother at the Golden Tooth. It seems that Lords Reyne and Marbrand have entered into an alliance of sorts, something with which to oppose Lord Tytos.”

Rhae stiffened. “What sort of alliance?”

Aegon must have heard the worry in her voice for he turned round then and brought her head to his chest and whispered into her hair. “Not a martial one my love. A marriage, Daemon Reyne has wed Lord Marbrand’s daughter, though to what end I do not know. I have asked Ser Edrick to look into and see what comes from it all. Now what else did you wish to speak to me of? I know that you did not come here to ask me about the letter.”

Rhae laughs nervously and then says. “I was wondering if we could talk about your plans for the north my love.”

Aegon sighs. “Not this again. Why do you insist on bringing this up again and again Rhae? What is done is done. It must happen I will not let that traitor continue his existence and threaten the peace of my kingdoms.”

Rhae pushes away from her husband then and says. “But why my love? Why bring war to Westeros once more when we have had seven years of peace? Longer than some of what happened under our father and uncle Aerys? Why would you risk the throne for a piece of barren wasteland?”

Her husband grits his teeth then and says. “It is not a barren wasteland; it is half of my kingdom. Daeron Stark is a rebel and a traitor, and he needs to know that we shall never tolerate his kind of foolishness to be tolerated. Besides the north still harbours the Blackfyres who have a decent claim to the throne through Aemon Blackfyre. The rest will die before then, but the north must fall and it must learn its lesson. I will not given Duncan half a kingdom, when the whole can be there for the taking.”

“But Daeron Stark’s lords love him still. They are not willing to rebel against him anymore. If you attack then we shall lose men and your lords will despise you, they do not want the north and the north doesn’t want them why not let them be?” Rhae asked.

“Because if I do then those lords who wish to unseat me and put Aerion on the throne, will claim I am too weak to deal with the north and the Blackfyres there. And then they will rebel and we shall give the winter cunt more room for his own war to be waged. It is better we attack first than present him with an opening with which to attack us.” Aegon replies.

“So you would send your men to die in a place far from their homes, as a matter of pride would you? Would you be so callous with your sons’ lives?” Rhae asks then her tone cold.

Aegon looks stung by her accusation but then his eyes harden and he replies. “If it would help the kingdom and make peace an actual possible solution then yes, I would do whatever it took to see the north brought to heel. Besides it is time our sons were wed, Rhaelle has already married Edric Baratheon, and they are expecting a child any day now. Duncan is heir to the iron throne and is twenty now, a man grown for some time, it is time he stopped acting as if he were a child. I have already had offers from Lord Leo Tyrell and from Dorne for potential brides for Duncan, Jaehaerys as well.”

“You would sell your sons for swords for a mission that is doomed to fail?” Rhae asks with disgust.

Aegon’s jaw tightens in a manner so reminiscent of their father that Rhae nearly smiles, and then her husband speaks. “I will not repeat myself again Rhae. This is not a mission, it is something that must happen if we want Duncan to inherit a kingdom that is stable and in peace. The north must learn to bend, and Daeron Stark and the Blackfyres must die. Duncan shall wed who I say he shall wed as shall Jaehaerys. And even if I do not invade the north now, in five or six years or perhaps even in nine if it must truly be that late, the north shall fall and with it Daeron Stark will learn the meaning of our house words and what it means to wake the dragon.”

“And Westeros will pay the price in corpses and blood.” Rhae says before she storms out leaving her husband alone.


	42. The Dying Embers

**Elaena Targaryen**

White Harbour was nice and quiet, compared to King’s Landing at least. Elaena held no fear of gossip mongerers reporting on her every move here, not with her being the king’s own aunt. There were fewer vipers in White Harbour than she had originally expected considering that this were the city that dealt the most with the south, and King’s Landing. Elaena had not been to King’s Landing, had not set foot south of the neck for nearly twenty years now, and she was glad of that. Being away from the south and its politics had given her the chance to reflect peacefully on her life and the events that had shaped it.

Her reflections on her life had led her to be less resentful of Baelor, her befuddled brother who had thought that by imprisoning her and their sisters he was actually doing good for the realm. After all his reign and their brother Daeron’s had come after the Dance of Dragons and though their father had done all he could to ensure peace and stability in the realm, that he had died before Daeron had had a son had meant there was a vacuum in their lives. Baelor had tried to fill that vacuum with prayer and worship and she had resented him for that, had even hated him for it, but now she realised as she listened to the lapping of the waves on the rocks that Baelor had simply tried to fill a hole in his heart. And deal with a duty he had never asked for, the second son that he was.

Being away from court she had had a whole lot of time to be able to reflect on her life and the regrets she had of it. The fact that there was still a war and a schism in Westeros was one of them, her and her sister Daena’s foolishness in giving way to their primitive desires had wrenched a hole in the very fabric of Westeros that had yet to be repaired, the generations that had come after them were still suffering from their mistakes. The Great Bastards, Elaena knew it was said had torn Westeros in half, but truly the rot had begun with Elaena and her sisters. The three maidens in the tower, that was the song, the one that painted them as victims, and though they were they got their own revenge on Baelor. Daena with a son who was still causing trouble from beyond the grave and she with seven children who were either dead or had lived a life in the shadow of their bastard siblings Jon and Jeyne.

Elaena knew what it was to regret, and she deeply regretted not being able to bring peace to her father’s kingdom now. She had come to the north as an envoy to try and make Daeron see reason, but she had given way to her own desires to retire away from court and the poison that filled it, to live her life in peace. She had done her duty so many times she had argued to herself and her children were grown or they were dead, it made no matter she had played her part, it was time for her to rest she had said. She had been wrong and selfish, her children were all gone from the world now, Athell having died from drink, her youngest son had never been confident, burdened by his duties he had drank himself away and she had seen the signs and should have acted but no she placed her duty to her sister and trying to bring Daeron from the brink of madness above trying to save her own son, and now the gods were making her pay.

Of the original generation that had seen the conflict that had become the Blackfyre war, she and Rhaena were the only two left. Rhaena spent her time in prayer, whether for herself Elaena knew not, all she knew was that she was grateful that her sister was with her. Rhaena had always been a source of comfort and someone who Elaena could go to with her problems when Daena or Daeron had not been the right person to speak to when they were children. And then when they were adults, and Elaena felt the pressure of being a princess once more, Rhaena was the one who offered her guidance as to how to act and how to soothe her nerves. Rhaena had been the rock with which Elaena had balanced her life on, and so she was grateful that her big sister was with her now.

Being with Rhaena had stirred up memories for Elaena, of the times of her youth when her father and uncle were both still alive and ruling the seven kingdoms well. Times where she and her sisters had played games with their brothers and the various other lordlings who had come to court to foster. Games and childish fancies they had all had, and Elaena had seen from the beginning that Daena and Willam Stark were meant to be, they made the perfect couple than she had never understood why father had insisted that Daena and Baelor wed. And then when Baelor had refused to have Daena wed Willam Stark she knew trouble would come from that and it had.  Looking back on her childhood now, she realised she had looked at it through rose tinted glasses, wanting for everything to be like that, like when she was seven and that in itself had influenced her life and her relationship with others.

It made her realise that perhaps that was why she had been so drawn to Alyn in the first place, the fact that he was a connection to both her father and her brother, and that he could make her forget the pain she felt for her mother’s death and all the other catastrophes that soon visited the Targaryen family after her father died. Alyn made her forget Dorne and Daeron’s doom, and then when Baelor imprisoned her, Alyn made her forget all of that. When Alyn died, a part of her had died as well, and so she gave herself away to work and no play, she wed and she bedded her husbands and got children from them but she did not truly love them, not like she loved Jon and Jeyne, and now she was suffering from that.

She could not led Daeron Stark suffer the same way she was suffering. Elaena knew she was dying, but before she left she had to give her family one last piece of advice. They were all in her room now, Rhaena, Daemon who reminded her so much of what his namesake and his grandfather had been like as a lad, Queen of the north Dacey Stark, and her own grandson Lord Arthur Connington, and of course the man himself Daeron Stark, King in the North and a madman besides. Elaena has already spoken or rather whispered to all the others in the room, her time is running out but she must speak with Daeron before she goes, she must do this one last thing and then the gods can grant her peace. “Daeron.” Elaena whispers her voice cracking. “Come here.”

Her nephew walks forward and sits beside her on the bed, his shoulders hunched in a way that suggests he is carrying the weight of the world on them; she knows that feeling all too well she must make him see. “I know you are haunted by ghosts’ sweetling. I know what it is to be haunted by ghosts, but you are being a complete fool.”

“Aunt Elaena, I don’t know what you mean.” Her nephew replies his voice tight.

Elaena laughs, wheezing. “Oh you sweet fool. Can you not see what you have become?”

“Elaena.” She hears Rhaena say warningly, but she ignores her big sister, this needs to be said now before it is too late.

“Daeron, you claim to be doing all of this in honour of your brother and mother. But I can tell you now they would be completely disgusted by what you have done, and the way you have done it.” Elaena says every breath an effort.

She hears those present gasp and hears Rhaena’s warning. “Elaena.” She knows what she is saying perhaps is not right, but the boy needs to hear it otherwise there will be war in the north once more. Daeron himself merely looks at her his eyes wide, eyes so like Daena’s that gives her more resolve to go on.

“Daemon Blackfyre, your brother the one you claim to be doing all this for, was a man who valued chivalry, honour and family above all else. Remember when he stood up for you in King’s Landing because some squires were bullying you for being from the north? Remember when he helped that poor girl from those idiots Aegon kept running around court? That is what your brother stood for, protecting the innocent and defending the weak. He fought for what he believed in and he did it with honour whilst taking into consideration the people he fought for and those he loved. You have dishonoured that, with your blindness to the world around you. Your sons died during the last war, so many men died during these wars you insist on raging. And why? Not because they believed in the Blackfyres, but because you are their king and they would die for you. But they get no recognition from you, nor do their families hear about their deeds. No all they know is that their sons and brothers and husbands died fighting in a foreign land, for some dragon who would forget about the north the minute they are crowned, and so that you can feel better about yourself. Daemon would be disgusted by your lack of morality and compassion for those men.” She fumes.

“Aunt Elaena I...” Daeron begins.

“I am not done yet nephew. You have had your chance to speak and you did not do anything. Now it is my turn and you will not refuse a dying woman.” Elaena says furiously. Her nephew swallows and Elaena ploughs on. “You did not mourn your sons, you did not mourn your brothers when they died. Cregan and Theon were dear to your mother, and Aegor and Brandon were dear to your wife, and yet you mourned the Blackfyre boys and did not mourn your own children. How can you claim to be your mother and father’s son when what you did would have disgusted both of them? You say you are a man of honour and family, and yet you treat your own family like dirt pushing them aside to feed your obsession with the south. You throw them away like some bad garment and dismiss their woes and concerns; you did not even bother to see why Aegor was acting out before he died. You ignored his cries for help; when Daena killed herself did you ever stop to think why she did it? Was it perhaps because you, her father had sent her son to his death? Of course you did not think of it, you think of nothing. Your parents would be ashamed of the man you have become as would Daemon. I am ashamed of the man you have become.” Daeron tries to speak but Elaena continues, with one final thing. “You tried to honour them all, but you failed. You failed them just as you are failing those left to you. Leave your obsession behind Daeron, before it is too late. You have people who love you and care for you, and yet you push them away. Don’t, accept them and be grateful for what you have otherwise you will die cold and alone and no one will cry for you.”

The lights are beginning to dim, her sight is going, the end is near, but before she closes her eyes she sees something akin to recognition in Daeron’s eyes and she knows her work is done. Elaena Targaryen, a lady of many talents and faces dies on the fifth day of the seventh month of the 240th year after Aegon’s Landing, she dies at the age of ninety.

* * *

 

**Aerion Targaryen, the King of Volantis**

Ten years to the day that Aerion Targaryen, the second born son of King Maekar Targaryen became king of Volantis. The occasion was marked with a grand tournament being thrown in the fighting pit of Volantis, with all the best fighters within the city competing including some of Aerion’s friends from the Golden Company who had come to his city for a break from the fighting in the Disputed Lands. Aerion himself had ended his membership with the Golden Company ten years ago after they had helped him take Volantis, when he thought about the ending he meant more about no longer serving actively with them, he was of course a member in blood till his death, there were just some things that could never end, and that was one of them.

His reasons for wanting to take Volantis had been less about a desire to establish a base for the Company that was what he had told Haegon in order to get his support for up taking, it was more to do with the anger he had felt over being passed over for king by the great council in Harrenhal. Haegon’s sources in Westeros had informed them that the lords who had gone to the council had chosen Aegon because he wanted to bring the north to heel and because they did not think he would be susceptible to Haegon’s influence. That they thought he would cow tow to Haegon deeply angered Aerion, he might be wed to the man’s sister and he might deeply love Shiera, he despised Haegon. The man was everything Aerion was not and he loathed him. Haegon was proud and boastful where he really had no cause to be, he lived in exile, his brothers were dead as were most of his nephews, his sons were dead or had abandoned the company and were living in Volantis. Really Haegon Blackfyre needed to be killed; Aerion’s love for Shiera though prevented him from doing anything.

Volantis itself had been surprisingly easy to take, the company had gotten contacts within the ruling elite, during Aegor’s time as the head of the company and as such used those contacts to plan a coup of the ruling triarchy. The elites pressured the triarchy to raise taxes and to charge more dues on the traders and the shop owners, all of this was done in secret of course through bribes and other such things. All this stirred the cauldron that Volantis had become, and when Aerion arrived at the walls of the city with the company behind him, they found a small force of soldiers there to resist them, and then they marched on for the Black Wall and the Palace of Fire where the triarchy lived. The cheering of the masses that day when Aerion presented them with the heads of the ‘corrupt’ rulers of old Volantis still rung in his ears all these years later.

After that, Aerion had decided to form a council based on the system he knew off from Westeros. He and his wife were crowned King and Queen in the Temple of the Lord of Light, and the council contained, a chief advisor known as the hand in Westeros, who was called Baelon Maegyr a rich noble with contacts throughout the city, master of ships was Aegor Rivers youngest son Daemon Bittersteel who had no wish to lead the Golden Company but was a master on a ship, master of the peace was a local named Darko Con Tarhao, a big brute of a man with an iron sense of right and wrong, Tristan Strickland served as the spymaster, and the commander of Aerion and his family’s personal guard the fire cloaks was Harry Flowers, a man who was a fierce fighter and a veteran of hundreds of battles.

With the council sorted, Aerion spent the next few years consolidating his rule over the city, there were no riots as such, there were a few minor disturbances but these were largely ended by the priests of the Lord of Light who declared that their god had named Aerion his chosen one, and the protector of the city. The nobles, those who were sceptical of such things, Aerion won over with marriages, Aenar his son and heir was wed to the daughter of the most liked and connected man in Volantis Boremund Gorgorth, the man was slight of build but very cunning, with him as an ally the other nobles of Volantis all cued up to pay homage to Aerion and his family. Shiera herself seemed happy to no longer have to live in the hovels that had been her life from an early age, her mother Delena Strickland now in the final years of her life lived with them in the Palace of Fire where they lived.

Aerion’s children were growing up very quickly, Aenar was now seventeen and had a child of his own, a son who he had named Aegor for the man who had been like a father to Aerion. Gaemon was fast becoming one of the best swordsman in Volantis and perhaps in the whole of Essos, skilled in the water dance of Bravos he had outclassed his teacher and that to at the age of fifteen, Aerion’s third son Maegor, was a smart lad, quick on his feet and with his mind, Aerion often had him sit in on council sessions and give his own two pieces of advice as well some of which were quite sound. As for his daughters, Aerion had three daughters by Shiera Blackfyre, Myriah after his grandmother who was wedded to Daemon Bittersteel, Naerys who had become a priestess of the Lord of Light, and little Sylvia the youngest of his children who was still a babe for all her protests of adulthood. He loved them all dearly, just as he loved their mother Shiera, the woman responsible for his sanity and the joy and happiness he had found, when all others had ruled him out and written him off.

The tourney itself lasted for over a week, there was a melee which Haegon won of course, the brute was only good for fighting and nothing more, the archery was won by someone named Black Balaq Cohor, an archer from Qohor, and the jousting now the jousting was fascinating. The first few rounds were boring normality but the final two rounds were the most interesting, Haegon’s son Daemon rode against Aerion’s own son Aenar, and though they broke twelve lances against one another, Aenar won and Haegon stormed out like a petulant child and Daemon Blackfyre junior seemed broken and tired. Aenar went up against Ser Harry Flowers the commander of the fire cloaks, they broke twenty lances and the crowd roared with each broken lance and each twist and turn of the horses, until Aenar won once more and crowned his wife queen of love and beauty.

Whilst the commons and the nobles talked about the tourney and the feast was held and more talk was held about the tourney and about the politics of the area, Aerion sat with his wife and his children and watched Haegon, and watched his friends, the commanders of the company, and he assessed which ones would be useful in years to come and which ones would need to be cut off from the herd and dealt with. Eventually, the feast ended the guests left and Aerion resumed his duties as king, and the council was called to discuss matters of import. As always, Daemon spoke first his voice calm and neutral unlike his father’s “The tourney was a great success Your Grace. But there are tidings that the sailors that come from Dorne have brought us. Princess Loreza Martell has wed Ser Corben Yronwood and with it bought the Yronwood’s loyalty or so they would have us believe.”

Aerion looks to Tristan Strickland for confirmation of this and is dismayed when the man nods his head and says. “I’m afraid that for once the mutterings of the shipmen are true Your Grace. It was a calculated move on the part of Prince Olyvar Martell, he knew the Yronwoods would rise again should Stark stir himself from his stupor to fulfil his oath, and so he took advantage of the peace and suggested a match that Lord Yronwood found too good to refuse.”

“But why? Yronwood will not rule Dorne as his own, instead his cousin will rule alongside Loreza Martell and the ruler of Dorne after Loreza will only be half Yronwood. Why would he agree to such a match?” Aerion asked aloud.

It was Haegon, the bitter fool who had forced himself into the meeting that answered that. “Because he was pressured into doing so by the pretender on the throne. Aegon the brat has been pushing for this match for sometime so my spies tell me. And as such Yronwood would have faced either death or this match, he went for the match. It makes no matter when we invade and when Daeron Stark finally remembers his oath, he will rise again.”

Aerion grits his teeth at the insult to his brother and asks Haegon. “And how can you be so sure of that? Corben Yronwood is a fierce man we all know that, a skilled fighter, he would kill his cousin if he had to, to protect his wife and their children. Yronwood would not fight his own cousin not now.”

Haegon stares at him as if he has grown a third head. “Are you blind or merely stupid Your Grace? Just because you have forgotten the vows you swore to Aegor Rivers, does not mean that Yronwood or Stark have. They will rise for us when we come calling and they shall do their duty as befits them. Stark most definitely will, he might be mad, but he is mad to see us on the throne and so he shall. This time.”

Aerion ignores the sally and instead asks. “What news of the movements of the slaver cities Tristan?”

“Aye, Your Grace. The Unsullied have moved from Astapor and are marching to pick up more reinforcements from Yunkai and Meeren. And my sources tell me that the dothraki will be marching to join them as well, I believe that the Harpy has offered Khal Pono a great deal of wealth to march on Volantis and bring it to the sword.” Strickland said.

Aerion felt his nerves flutter. He looked at the map in front of him and said. “If they marching from Astapor to Yunkai and Meeren then they will march for Tolos next, and then from there meet with the Dothraki. I want word sent to Mantarys tell them that they are to be ready for a possible attack. Their gates should be barred and sealed. And I want word sent to the port Daemon, none are to leave without my say so and any information you hear I want given to Tristan. The savages might not go by ship the Unsullied will though, I want us to be ready for when they come.”

“There is other news as well Your Grace.” Tristan Sunderland said. “A raven arrived this morning from Bravos, it appears as if the Iron Bank wish to discuss terms with you regarding the loan that we currently have with them, and it seems that the iron throne is pressuring them to increase the loan.”

Aerion was silent for a moment and then he said. “Very well, have your contact in the Bank speak with the Sealord and get the deal renegotiated to terms more favourable to us, and have your sources with the men, deal out the sentence to those who suggested the deal to my brother. I will not have Volantis put under more pressure. Not now.”

“And what would you have of the company Your Grace?” Haegon asked mockingly. “Would you like us to refuse yet another contract in the Disputed Lands to sit here and grow fat and undisciplined waiting for a foe that seems further and further away?”

Aerion felt his irritation grow gritting his teeth he simply said. “I would have you do what you think is best Haegon, and do it soon.”


	43. Southbound

**King Aegon V Targaryen**

Winter had come to Westeros, on white wings and white snow. Winter had come two years ago and with it had come a host of problems for Aegon Targaryen, fifth of his name and King of the Seven Kingdoms. Winter had seen the Blackwater frozen, for the first time since the Targaryens had landed in Westeros, with the Blackwater frozen it was hard for trade ships to enter and leave the city and port. As such Aegon had been forced to divert traffic to Maidenpool and then have the goods transported from there by cart, something that had left him feeling very nervous, after all the Mootons had been rather meek and submissive during the last war to have engulfed Westeros, and he was not sure whether they could be completely trusted.

There had been other problems as well, bandits had emerged in the Kingswood and had been harassing the nobles close to Fawnton and Haystack Hall, Aegon had been unable to ride out and deal with the bandits himself, he was the king now and could not afford to tarry with such things, and so instead he had sent his first born and heir Duncan. Duncan was twenty seven now, and was still unwed, something that worried Aegon somewhat, the vultures where still circling trying to get their hands into the heir to the Iron Throne. The bandits had been dealt with swiftly and efficiently, their leader hung, drawn and quartered. Duncan had proven how effective he could be and as such Aegon was considering giving him more responsibility.

Something that perhaps might actually do his son some good, Duncan was a carefree lad with an easiness that Aegon had never truly possessed. He had a gift of making everyone like him and as such that gift had made him think that life was easy, easier than it should be for the heir to the throne. Duncan had never truly taken any of his duties seriously, even when it came down to the issue of marriage. There had been offers from Lords Tyrell, Redwyne, Arryn and Whent for Duncan’s hand, all of the lords were proud men who would do well for the throne to have more closely aligned to the throne, and yet Duncan had hesitated on whom to marry, some had questioned Aegon’s decision to give his son the choice of choosing his wife, saying that he should simply make the match, and yet Aegon did not want his son to be saddled with a wife he would not atleast care about. Aegon had wed for love himself, and as such wanted his sons the chance to get to know their possible betrotheds before making a decision. The problem was that Duncan as with most things in his life, had tarried for so long that Lord Tyrell’s sister had died from a fever two years ago, Lord Redwyne’s daughter was now betrothed to Luthor Tyrell and Arryn and Whent continued to wait patiently for Aegon to give them a response to their offer. Yes, Duncan would most definitely benefit from some increased responsibility in the council meetings.

Rhaelle had done her duty, his daughter had always been very dutiful doing as she was told and never failing to exceed her parents’ expectations, it was pure luck Aegon supposed that she actually loved her husband Lord Edric Baratheon, and that they now had a son named Steffon who was seven years old. Baratheon was like all of his family, black of hair, blue of eyes and fierce of temper though Aegon had seen how he doted on Rhaelle, and that made him happy, he had bad memories of a previous Baratheon lord and how he had treated another dragon princess. Still one good marriage had not removed the headaches that Aegon faced from his lords due to the choices of his other sons. Jaehaerys, his second son, frail of health but sharp of mind had married for love, wedding Alysanne Osgrey, a ward for her father’s good behaviour, and as such as his son was not the heir, Aegon had consented, and so far the couple had two children Aerys and Rhaella, who were both five years old. Jaehaerys wedding had caused a bit of a stir in the Reach Aegon knew, for there were those who thought the Osgreys traitors a family that needed to be taught a very sharp lesson, and though Aegon agreed with them, he also knew that with his daughter wed to a prince of the blood Harrold Osgrey was not like to side with the black dragon ever again, thus removing a major obstacle to any further wars that might be waged. Aelix his third and youngest son who had been knighted by Aegon’s goodbrother Lord Maegon Velaryon, had wed Desmera Charlton, a girl he had met on his travels through the riverlands. Aelix was the third son and so Aegon had seen nothing wrong with the wedding taking place and though the Charlton girl had not yet given his son any children, Aegon was not too concerned about that, Aelix had always been able to look after himself. If anything Aegon was more concerned about whom Duncan was to wed.

There were other matters that Aegon had to think on as well, another Vulture King had arisen in the marches, nothing like the first Vulture King who had been a Toyne. This man was some lowborn bandit who had begun preaching against Aegon and his family and had developed quite a following within the marches. Aegon had sent word to Lords Dondarrion and Cafferen and had ordered them to deal with the man and his followers, and though there had been battle the Vulture King had escaped and had been traipsing around the countryside before Aelix had found him near his home in the Riverlands and had him hanged. His followers continued to plague the marches though and Aegon was beginning to think that perhaps a much more serious course of action might need to be taken.

He was sat in the council chambers, Dunk sat on his left, Lord Domeric Bolton sat to his right, Ser Edrick Lannister the master of whispers sat to Bolton’s right, Lord Maegon the master of ships, Grand Maester Justin, Aegon’s son Duncan was present as were Lord Boremund Swann the master of laws and Lord Matthew Bracken the master of coin. Aegon sighed deeply and then spoke. “Thank you for coming my lords. Now I would hear what news you have for me.”

Lord Bracken spoke first. “Despite the freezing of the Blackwater, trade continues to flourish Your Grace. The goods coming and going from Maidenpool have seen the crown’s coffers rise in gold by thirty percent compared to what they were three years ago. The loans from the Iron Bank have now all been paid off.”

Aegon nodded. “That is good my lord. We must make sure that we do not need another loan from the bank for some time. Are our coffers full?”

“They are Your Grace.” Bracken replied.

“Good,” Aegon said. “I want some money set aside for when we must begin repairing the trade bridges from the river out into the docks for when the Blackwater thaws. Maester Justin has the citadel said when the winter will end?”

Maester Justin was an old man his days were numbered but still when he spoke all listened. “They believe that this winter will end soon enough Your Grace. When they could not say, but there are reports from Oldtown of the Whispering Sound beginning to thaw, and so they believe that it will be another year before this winter is finally over.”

“Very well then,” Aegon said. “I want a raven sent to the citadel saying that the minute they see any movement on the Whispering Sound they are to write here, and let us know so that suitable arrangements can be made.”

Ser Edrick Lannister spoke then. “Your Grace, I have news from across the narrow sea pertaining to Haegon Blackfyre and the Golden Company’s movements that will be of significant interest to yourself and Prince Duncan.” Aegon looked at the man and then nodded for him to continue. “My sources across the sea tell me that it appears that Haegon Blackfyre has broken his alliance with Aerion Targaryen and Volantis. It seems the two had an argument about the direction Blackfyre was heading and as such Blackfyre has taken the company back to Tyrosh and sits plotting his next move.”

 _So it seems you can still make people hate you brother._ Aegon thought with some satisfaction. Aloud he said. “This is good news. Was there any clear indication over what they fell out over? And do your sources know how guarded the King of Volantis is?”

Ser Edrick was silent for a minute and then he replied. “There are no clear indications over what it was that they exactly fell out over Your Grace. But I do know that without the Golden Company in Volantis there is no significant strength there preventing some of the minor nobles from rebelling against Aerion Targaryen. Furthermore the king is guarded by some twelve fire cloaks night and day, as are his wife and children. It is said he also consorts with the priests of the Lord of Light who are supposed to be more effective at seeing threats than his own spymaster.”

“Very well. Still there will be those within Essos who will want him dead just as badly as we do. Use your contacts across the narrow sea to get in contact with the Faceless Men. We shall be needing their services soon enough.” Aegon said.

“The faceless men Your Grace?” Lord Bracken stammered. “Do you not think that is a bit much effort to go to remove someone who might not even be a threat anymore?”

Aegon stared at the man and merely said. “So long as Aerion lives, those who do not like my reign or my family will have him as a beacon to use against me. I will not suffer him living. Though he is my brother he must die, and so must his son and grandson. There is tension in Volantis and it must be done. Edrick I want you to also keep an eye on Tyrosh, perhaps we can use the new tension between the two to our advantage.”

Ser Edrick nodded and then said. “There has also been word from our contacts in the north. Prince Daemon Stark wed Samaira Dustin two moons past and the girl is now pregnant. It also seems that Daemon Stark is working to have the council legitimise his bastard brother Gyles as a Stark as well.”

“Very well. Tell our contact that he should continue doing as he is, and that he shall need to act soon enough. There will not be much time before another wolf brat is born. Did he say anything about Daeron Stark and whether the mad man takes part in the council sessions?” Aegon replied.

Ser Edrick smiled and he had never looked more like a lion then he did then. His voice was soft but full of glee when he replied. “Daeron Stark remains isolated from his council and form most of the northern court. Daemon Stark does most of the ruling, and the northern lords continue to grumble about that. Furthermore though, Stark is building weapons for war, and continues to listen to whatever prattle his grandson Lucerys Blackfyre whispers in his ear.”

Aegon smiled then as well. “That is good. Maester Justin I want word sent to Lord Mallister, he is to begin preparing his men, soon enough they will need to march. I want word sent to Lord Arryn as well, he is to begin training his men as well.. I will also want word sent to our contact in the north, soon enough he will need to begin mapping the north and its weak spots, and this time they will not get away with their treachery.”

* * *

 

**Prince Daemon Stark**

He bore a dragon’s name, but he was of the north. He knew that from the way he could walk through the cold and the snow and not bat an eyelid whilst his cousin Lucerys Blackfyre shivered and had snot gathered on his nose. He could never understand how someone like Lucerys who claimed to be fire made flesh, could continue to be so cold in the north despite having grown up and spent his whole life in the north. Daemon did not appreciate the fact that Lucerys did not even seem to be grateful of the fact that whilst his cousins in Essos had to continuously wander round and fight for their shelter and home, he had always had a roof over his head and was always provided for, food and shelter that could have been given to more deserving northerners, people who actually cared about their home. Lucerys was nothing more than an arrogant bastard, who took what he had for granted and constantly complained about the bleakness of the north, and Daemon knew that had he ever said something like that his grandfather would have beaten him for it, and Lucerys got away with it all the time. He resented that, just as he resented the Blackfyres continued existence in the north.

His grandfather the ‘great’ Daeron Stark was an old man who continued to live in the past, Daemon had been there when his great aunt Elaena had given his grandfather a talking to, and he remembered over hearing his grandmother and great uncle Donnel speaking about that afterwards and how both of them hoped and prayed that his grandfather would return to how he had been before the madness. Daemon had heard stories of the great man his grandfather had been, the skilled warrior, the compassionate father and husband, and yet the man he saw everyday in Winterfell was nothing more than a shell, a husk of a former great man driven by his desire to seat dragon scum on a southern throne. Daemon’s grandmother Dacey told Daemon that his grandfather had improved from how he had been before, he was no longer so mad, and blindly devoted to one thing. But Daemon thought it was easy for her to say that. His grandmother had come back to Winterfell along with him and had known Daeron Stark both as he had been before and after the madness, and so had something to work with. Daemon had nothing; his grandfather paid him not the slightest bit of attention, devoting his attention to Lucerys Blackfyre. When he had been younger perhaps fourteen, Daemon had asked his grandmother if he had done something to displease his grandfather, and she had simply smiled at him sadly and said he had not. But then why would his grandfather never speak to him?

Daemon had first met his grandfather when he was twelve, the day his great aunt Elaena died, before then he had only known his grandmother Queen Dacey, his great uncle Donnel, his cousin Edwyn, his brother Gyles and his uncle Jorah. After his aunt Elaena’s funeral he had not seen his grandfather again until a few days after his fourteenth nameday when he had arrived at Winterfell to be presented before the court of winter and officially named as the heir to the throne of winter. Later he had heard two of the guardsmen, winter’s guard he thought, saying that the king had only summoned him to Winterfell because of the reports that had reached him about what Daemon had done to the pirates who had attacked Ramsgate. The pirates had raided and raped their way through Ramsgate and the coast before Daemon had led men from White Harbour, he had decided to do the task as a prince of the north it was his duty he had argued, and so they had smashed the pirates to bits and Daemon had flayed the captain of the pirates and then hung his entrails on the heart tree in the godswood. The guards he had overheard talking had said that the king had only summoned him to court because he was scared his grandson and heir was a monster, and not the perfect heir that Lucerys Blackfyre was, that had stung eve more when he had seen how much attentions his grandfather paid to Lucerys and how little he seemed to care about Daemon or Gyles.

What stung even more was that, despite his grandmother reassuring him that his grandfather did actually care about him, he never got any acknowledgement for the hard work he put in alongside maester Aemon in ruling the north whilst his grandfather built war machines and weapons for another southern war. His grandfather never attended council meetings and instead spent his time with either Daemon’s grandmother or with Lucerys Blackfyre but never with Daemon or his brother Gyles. That stung and it hurt, and he hated that it did so, he should have been used to it by now, he was a man grown, wed and a father. Daemon Stark had wed Samaira Dustin, the eldest daughter of Lord Roger Ryswell a year ago today, and unlike most couples, Daemon had actually known his betrothed beforehand, having spent some time visiting the north with his grandmother and uncle Jorah. They had stayed at Barrowtown many time during their journeys and he had struck up quite a good friendship with the Dustins and Samaira in particular.

It helped he supposed that she was nice and easy to talk to, despite being the heir Daemon had never had the confidence in speaking with girls as his brother Gyles had, or even that bastard Lucerys. He was always worried that he would say the wrong thing, or something that would make them think him foolish and an idiot, and that was something he could not truly bear, not that feeling of pain and rejection, he had suffered enough of that already. Samaira though was a completely different story she was easy to talk to and he found he generally did like her company, and their daughter Jorelle was the light of his life, his everything, she was so precious to him and he never wanted to give her up.

As much as he wanted to spend all of his time with his wife and daughter, he had other duties to attend to and as such found himself stuck in the council chambers, with Maester Aemon, Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard Asphell Wull, High Steward Edwyle Stark, High Shadow Lord Donnor Reed, High Admiral of the northern fleet Lord Edrick Cassel and master of coin Lord Rodwell Manderly. There was much that needed to be discussed today, many important issues. Daemon cleared his throat and said. “I thank you for coming today my lords. I know my grandfather would thank you as well, but other matters have taken up his attention. Now what matters are there for us to discuss today?”

Grand Maester Aemon looked at the papers in front of him and spoke first. “There has been a series of disputes between Lord Dreadstark and Lord Hornwood pertaining to certain piece of land, that both claims are their own. Neither has backed down and neither is willing to bring the matter before court, and so the issue is here in council.”

Daemon sighed, he knew both men, Lord Brandon Dreadstark known as ice eyes for the paleness of his eyes, was a proud man and stubborn and feared. Lord Donnel Hornwood was proud and stronger than he was smart. “Very what piece of land is it that they claim?” he asked.

Aemon looks at the paper again and says. “A patch of land big enough to graze sheep on my prince, on the SHeepstead Hills. Dreadstark claims that the land has always belonged to the Dreadfort from the days of old, whilst Hornwood claims that the land has been in his family since the time of his great grandfather.”

“Show me the paper Maester.” Daemon said. He looked at it thoroughly and then groaned. “That land is Dreadstark’s it always has been, I learnt about if as a child in my lessons. Hornwood is grasping at straws. Tell him to give up his claim to the land, otherwise his lay off will become permanent.” Aemon nodded and scribbled down what the decision was. Daemon then asked. “Now what more is there for us to discuss?”

Lord Edrick spoke then. “Reports have come in from Lord Greyjoy and from our contacts in the narrow sea, it seems that Aegon Targaryen has started manning his ships and building more war galleys to supplement the royal fleet. As of yet there have been no skirmishes but it does seem as if that will become a very high possibility soon enough.”

Daemon nodded and then said. “Very well, I want you to keep Stony Shore on alert, and have the fleet ready should Targaryen strike first. Furthermore I want Lord Greyjoy to patrol the sunset sea, he is not engaging in any actual fighting without my grandfather’s leave. I only want information, and Greyjoy will be the one to get if for me. Now what more?”

Lord Reed spoke then. “There are murmurings south of the neck, the Twins are arming themselves, and have engaged in some minor skirmishes with my people my prince. Nothing serious, we captured Ser Edmyn Frey, Lord Walder’s brother, and he told us that these skirmishes were being used to give us information and signs about the south. It seems that there is a boiling point in the south that is about to be reached. The marriage of Aegon Targaryen’s sons for love has caused some deep anger amongst the nobility. It seems that Prince Duncan’s continued bachelorhood also offends many as well. Aegon Targaryen is losing allies faster than he can gather them.”

“That is interesting indeed.” Daemon muses. “But as of now that is not my concern. My grandfather builds war machines, but we will not need to use them, not now not with peace and winter. What word from the east Lord Reed?”

Lord Reed, wed to Daemon’s aunt Elaena is cheerful where his aunt is solemn, smiling where she is grim. Sometimes when he was younger Daemon thought the man a fool, but now he has come to rely on him, perhaps a bit too much. Still the man has yet to fail him and proves his worthiness once more when he says. “Haegon Blackfyre and Aerion Targaryen have parted ways, and the Golden Company once more sits in Tyrosh waiting for another chance to invade Westeros. Aerion Targaryen continues to consolidate his hold on Volantis and so far faces no threats to his reign. None know what caused the separation and no theories have been provided as of yet. There has also been word from Dorne. It appears that Loreza Martell and the Yronwoods have completely reconciled now, after the birth of her heir, the Princess of Dorne has determined that husband’s nephew shall foster with them, and that he shall be knighted soon enough. The Yronwoods will not fight against their won kin.”

Daemon nodded, he did not particularly care about the south, and his grandfather was the one who would be interested in such issues. Daemon then asked Lord Edwyle. “What word from Skagos my lord? Has the dispute there been sorted out?” There had been a minor skirmish within Skagos for control of the island following his uncle’s marriage to last surviving heir of Gorne Magnar.

“There has been my prince.” Edwyle said his voice grim. “The fools remembered who they owed their allegiance to, and as such have named Donnor Bonebreaker as their ruler now. The man has promised to sent men to aid Lord Borros Reyne at Long Lake to deal with the wildlings who are threatening his lands.”

“That is good. I shall need to speak to my grandfather about sending more aid to the Night’s Watch we cannot have wildlings getting past the wall. Not now, not during winter.” Daemon said. _Grandfather will have to see me then, and this time I will not be refused, damn Lucerys to each of the seven hells._


	44. Denial/ Truth

**Prince Duncan the Small**

The ice was beginning to thaw on the Blackwater, four years after it had settled, that was the news Duncan had heard amongst the court and the traders he dealt with for his father. If the ice thawed that would be good for trade, as it would mean that they would no longer need to send ships brining valuable goods to Maidenpool, and instead could host them in King’s Landing, and revive the city’s shifting economy. On the other hand it was bad, for it meant that father could finally wage his war.  Since he’d been old enough to attend council meetings, Duncan had seen how his father’s desire to reconquer the north had become more than just a desire, it had become a near obsession, and though Duncan himself agreed that the north needed to be shown what was what, and that they were responsible for the countless deaths and destruction that had ravaged Westeros, he did not think the way his father was going about it was correct.

His father had attempted to build alliances in order to strengthen their family’s position and hold on the Iron Throne, Rhaelle had been betrothed and had later married Lord Edric Baratheon and had since borne him three children, two sons Steffon and Orys and a daughter Argella. The Baratheons were once more firm allies of the throne, Duncan’s brothers had had betrothal options discussed for them, and Duncan knew that Jaehaerys had been betrothed to a girl from Casterly Rock, but that had fallen through when Jaehaerys had instead asked for the hand of Alysanne Osgrey, father had not been happy about that, but had not been able to refuse after all he had wed for love as well. Duncan’s youngest brother Aelix had wed a girl from House Charlton, and as such his marriage had not caused as much a controversy, but there was still some resentment amongst those nobles at court who had thought to perhaps wed into the royal family.

That had left Duncan, who had had various offers given to him, he could have wed a Tyrell, an Arryn any of them could have been his bride, his father had given him the chance to meet with each other suggested women, and though he had found them all nice girls, there had been something lacking from his interactions with them. There had been no spark, no connection, no like the ones he had seen between his siblings and their spouses and between his parents. He had brought this up with his father, and his father had merely laughed and said that such a thing took time to work on, and that he need not base his decision simply on that, and yet Duncan could not get past that. In the end the Tyrell girl had died from a fever, the Arryn girl was betrothed to someone called Denys Arryn and the other girl whose name he could never remember was wed of to someone else.

His father had not been best pleased, those marriages could have provided him with useful allies and yet Duncan did not truly care, he wanted love and happiness from his marriage not just duty. And so he had remained a bachelor, exploring the kingdoms he would one day rule and helping his father in council, the lords he stayed with were more than happy to host him, no doubt hoping that he would take a fancy to one of their daughters or sisters, Lord Lannister had in particular seemed rather keen on the idea, as had that old weasel Walder Frey. But Duncan had not found what he was looking for in any of the highborn establishments he went, none of the lords’ daughters appealed to him and instead he found what he was searching for in the arms and the eyes of a common born girl Jenny of Oldstones she was called, and from the moment he had set eyes on her he had been captivated and in love with her.

Jenny was a tall girl, with long brown hair and dark green eyes, she had no mother and only a brother to look after her, and yet she was strong and brave. She was smart as well, and Duncan had spent a many day speaking with her about Westeros and the things that the smallfolk had to go through whilst the highborn played their game of thrones. She had refused all his natural advances, the things that had worked on all the other girls he had been with, and instead it had taken time but eventually she had been worn down by him and so his courtship with her had properly began and soon enough he had asked for hand in marriage. Despite his father’s disappointment, King Aegon consented and so Duncan had wed Jenny a year ago, and though there had been murmuring amongst the lords of court and the kingdoms none had said anything, and though Duncan had thought of giving up his crown and his claim to the throne, his father had refused to allow such a thing, and Jaehaerys himself had also not wanted the burden of being heir frail as his health was, and so Duncan remained the heir, for now.

Duncan knew that his wife had been over awed when she had come to court, how could she not be, a simple girl from the villages in the Riverlands and suddenly there she was princess of Dragonstone and with all the glitz and glammer of the court, it was no surprise that she had been overwhelmed by it all. Duncan had taken her away from court for a while and had gone travelling around the crownlands and Stormlands, exploring the kingdoms and places of his youth especially Summerhall, where Aelix lived now. The people loved her, Jenny was a gracious lady using her charm to win the people over where her lack of courtly manners showed, and as such none had said a bad word about her, though Duncan knew there were still murmurings about it all.

This was why he suspected his father had asked for him to come and see him in his solar, King Aegon very rarely asked his children to come and see him here unless they had done something bad or he had a very important thing to tell them. As such Duncan could fell his heart hammering in his chest, he took a deep breath and then knocked once his father called for him to enter, he opened the door, and found his father sat in a chair by the fireplace, his hands steepled together and Ser Duncan the Tall, sitting in a chair next to him. “Ah Duncan, come sit down.” Duncan sat down in the chair opposite his father. The king’s hair was turning grey, his face was lined and his expression was solemn. Still his voice was commanding when he spoke. “You must be wondering why I have asked you here.” Duncan nodded, his father spoke once more. “Ser Edrick has reported that there are murmurings of a plot afoot within the Riverlands to have your wife and her wood’s witch killed, when the venture to Oldstones soon.”

Duncan felt a jolt of fear run through him. “How and why would they do this father? None seemed to mind Jenny when they met her? Lords Tully, Bracken, Goodbrook and Mooton all were very receptive of her and they were the ones most angered by our marriage.”

His father sighed then. “Aye lords Tully and Bracken did not mind you visiting them with Jenny, but of course they would not mind, the girl is from the Riverlands and they feel she will be easily manipulated once you come to the throne. Goodbrook and Mooton are always loyal to us and shall always be. No the matter persists with Walder Frey and his brood of weasel haired bastards. The man has always been a close friend of Daeron Stark, and as such wishes to have your wife kidnapped and taken north to use as leverage against us, and to force the throne to call its men together and attack the north.”

“But why father? I do not understand, what does Frey have to gain from doing that?” Duncan asked confused.

His father sighed once more and said simply. “He gains leverage over us, and he gains respect from the Blackfyre supporters south of the neck. They all believe that Frey was a coward for not siding with the Blackfyres and the traitor stark during earlier wars, and since Stark seems to scared and cowardly to finish what he has started now, Frey means to help him finish it. Ser Edrick reports that this was a plan that received Lucerys Blackfyre’s seal of approval as well.”

“Should I tell Jenny not go then father? I know she might be disappointed but I’m sure if I explained why she could not go she would understand.” Duncan asked.

His father nodded. “Aye, tell her that she cannot go but do not tell her why. I know your wife tells her brother everything but I do not think that this is one thing that needs to be said to him. He may leave for Oldstones if he wishes, but your wife shall remain here.”

“Why should Jenny’s brother not be told father? You can’t think he’s a spy surely not? He’s never been anywhere apart from Oldstones and King’s Landing.” Duncan said amazed.

“If that’s what your wife has told you about your goodbrother, then she was lying to you. Godfrey has been to the Twins, in fact whilst your wife and he were growing up he spent some time serving as stable hand, and even managed to serve as a squire for one of the old weasel’s bastard sons.” His father replied.

“And you think he might be spying on us for lord Walder? But if he is why would he put his sister’s life in danger? He loves her dearly, why not simply try and get me to come with them and then have me captured?” Duncan asked.

“Because he was instructed to take only his sister with him. You would be too much baggage to have them sneak away to the north. Besides doing something like that would break the peace agreement whilst taking Jenny would not. After all, most of the court now knows you are hovering between being excluded from the succession and remaining in place.” His father replied.

Duncan felt the familiar pang of shame at his father’s words, he pushed that aside though and asked. “Well now that you have told me that, may I be excused or is there something more you wish to tell me father?”

“There is actually.” His father said. “We have had word from our spies in the north, tension between the two Starks is reaching boiling point and Lucerys Blackfyre appears to be the cause of it all. I have a plan in operation further cause divide between the two of them that will weaken the north when we finally invade and take it back.”

“And what does this plan include father?” Duncan asked.

His father shook his head then. “You do not need to know that, not yet atleast. But your role in what is to come is an important one. I had originally thought of having you lead our forces to attack the Moat, and break the neck, but instead Lord Mallister shall be given that task. You shall lead the crownlands host that leads the defence of Massey’s Hook and Crackclaw Point. We have reason to believe that the golden company will invade from there, and as such we need to cut off Haegon Blackfyre from the north’s forces.”

“Will the north march south though father? I thought Daeron Stark was trying to improve his ways surely invading the south will not do that?” Duncan asked.

His father merely looked at him and said ominously. “Some habits die hard where family are concerned Duncan the sooner you learn that the better it will be for you.”

* * *

 

**Queen Dacey Stark**

It was nice to be back in Winterfell, even if things were not completely how they used to be. There was a hole in her heart where Aegor and Brandon once had been, she would walk the halls during the day and hear laughter and expect to see her sons laughing and joking about something or the other, only to round the corner and find that there was no one there or that it was Daemon and Gyles. Winterfell was filled with ghosts for Dacey, and as such there was only one person she could truly blame for that, the man who had made it a ghost town in the first place Daeron Stark, her husband.

After Elaena Targaryen had died, something had changed within her husband; it was as if some sense of clarity had hit him as if he had finally stopped being a mad obsessive idiot that he had been when she had left Winterfell all those years ago. Something had broken within him and he had seen the error of his ways. At first Dacey had been very wary of her husband, painful as it was to admit it, he had not been himself in the years before Aegor’s death, constantly plotting and brooding and never bothering to interact with their children or anyone for that matter who was not a Blackfyre. That had sickened her, and as such when her husband had started trying to make up for the wrongs he had done to her and their children she had ignored him, and she had not spoken to him.

Daeron had remained in White Harbour for about a week after Elaena Targaryen’s death seeing to her burial, and the fact that he was paying more attention to her burial than he had done for their sons had angered beyond belief, so much so that when he had tried to speak to her during the funeral she had merely walked on and ignored him childish as it had been. Her husband had returned to Winterfell shortly after that and she had not heard from him again for another two years, when suddenly a raven arrived asking that Daemon and Gyles come to Winterfell. Dacey had been fearful of that, she had not known whether her husband was sane or not, she would not risk her grandchildren being exposed to such madness, and so instead she had written back saying that if her husband wanted to see his grandchildren he would have to come to the Wolf’s Den. And surprisingly enough he had.

Her husband had been awkward around Daemon and Gyles to say the least, he did not seem to know how to speak with them, nor they him and so their first meeting was awkward and as such Dacey was not convinced that they should go to Winterfell. What had changed her mind was the time she herself had spent with her husband during his visit to the wolf’s den, where he laughed and joked with her and her brother Donnel, and it seemed like the Daeron of her youth was back, the man she loved and married had returned. He no longer solely spoke about the Blackfyres and warring in the south, instead he spoke of the north and how he hoped to improve various things within it, and how he was so deeply sorry fr all the wrong he had done. There had been much crying during that conversation and after that Dacey was convinced her husband was sane and that her grandchildren would be safe with him and so they returned to Winterfell.

The first year there had been hard for Daemon she knew, whereas Gyles had always been confident and outgoing, Daemon had always been quite shy and withdrawn, preferring to spend time with his brother and cousins in the Wolf’s Den or his direwolf, the black danger that was Mars. Daemon had never truly been good with people who were not family or close friends, and as such had struggled with the additional expectation placed on him as heir to the Winter Throne, and all the new people he was expected to meet and speak to. That had improved with time and her grandson was now a confident young man with a wife and child of his own. Gyles, the rogue that he was continued to break hearts across Winterfell with his dark hair and tanned skin he was every maiden’s fantasy and he played that to his advantage, though he was unwaveringly loyal to his older brother, always there for Daemon when he needed something, some piece of information, the two made a formidable team.

There was just one problem though, the people of the north might love their King’s grandchildren and might think them the gift of the gods, but Daeron himself actually had very little interaction with Daemon and Gyles, preferring instead to spend his time with his daughter Elaena and that brat Lucerys Blackfyre. And though Dacey could not fault him for spending time with Elaena, she could not understand why he would want to spend time with Lucerys Blackfyre, the man was a brat and needed to brought down several pegs, he was boastful of skills he did not have, and as such had that been one of their children Dacey knew her husband would have set him on the straight and narrow, and yet Lucerys go away with much. She had confronted him about it and he had said he knew not how to speak to their grandchildren and that it was easier to speak to Lucerys than with Daemon and Gyles. Dacey had laughed at that and told him that if he truly wanted to set things right he would need to speak with them, so far he had not done so.

That in itself had caused problems, Daeron might be more involved in ruling the north and might attend more council sessions than he had when Daemon had first started attending the council sessions and yet he still spoke not two words to his grandsons, and Dacey knew that it was starting to bother them, Daemon more so than Gyles. She would not have another Aegor in Winterfell, not after the grief and pain that had caused and so she had summoned both her husband and her grandson to her rooms this morning, and at present they were both staring at anywhere but each other. They looked so alike it was startling and both were so very stubborn. Eventually she sighed and said. “Well since neither of you will speak, I will. You are both here because this has gone on for long enough. Daemon I know you want to know why your grandfather seemingly ignores you, and Daeron you might say what you want but frankly this is pathetic. We have already seen the damage silence can do to our family, and I will not standby and have it happen again. The two of you will not leave this room until you have spoken.”

“I have a kingdom to run Dacey; I cannot waste my time talking about something that does not need to be talked about.” Her husband grumbled.

“Oh, because you truly have been ruling the north for the past sixteen years and it hasn’t actually been Maester Aemon doing all the hard work whilst you build war machines for another bloody war to seat dragon scum on the southern throne.” Daemon spat.

Her husband looked like he had been hit; Dacey spoke then before something else could be said. “Go on Daemon; explain what you mean by that.”

Her grandson looked at her then, with a look that was so similar to Aegor that she nearly thought her adopted son was back from the dead. His voice was heavy when he spoke. “Well it’s obvious isn’t it? Grandfather claims to be a changed man, he attends council sessions aye, but the hard work has always fallen to myself and Maester Aemon to do. And he says he does not want to harm the north or the family anymore, or atleast that is what you tell me grandmother, and yet he spends more time with Lucerys Blackfyre the cunt that he is, rather than with either me and Gyles. He claims he wants to make up for the sins he committed against my father and yet he doesn’t bother to get to know myself or my brother, and spends all of his time doting on that twat Lucerys. How am I supposed to feel knowing that I am unworthy of the Winter Dragon’s approval or time when a man not even of the north gets all of his attention and love?”

Daemon’s hands were shaking, and Daeron looked stricken, “Do you have anything to say to that Daeron?” she asked.

Her husband swallowed and then said. “I...I... I don’t know what to say.”

Daemon snorted. “Of course he doesn’t. You don’t even know who I am do you grandfather? Oh sure you asked me here because I am your heir, but that’s only because you sent my father to die in some shithole in the south, and then you didn’t even mourn him. Or is it because I might actually have the balls to stand up to you, and the southerners that have been causing us hell for the pasty sixty years. The north has never done well in the south Grandfather, surely you must know that by now? And yet you continue to bleed our men in the south, if it wasn’t for Maester Aemon we wouldn’t even be alive right now. You spend time with Lucerys Blackfyre and treat him like he was your own grandson, your own family. He’s not you know, I am, Gyles is. Not that man who thinks with his prick, and is a shame to everything the north stands for, and who insults the north with every breath he takes.”

Dacey sees that Daemon is crying now, tears dropping down his cheeks, she has not seen her grandson cry since he was a boy. She takes his hand and squeezes, and then asks. “Is there anything you have to say to that Daeron?” she deeply hopes there is, otherwise she fears that there might be another split in the Stark family, and this time the north won’t recover from it.

Thankfully after a long silence, her husband swallows and then says. “I...I... never meant to cause so much hurt, and I am sorry that I have done so Daemon. Truly I am, I never meant to make you think that I didn’t care for you, or that I didn’t love you. It’s just that, I was not myself for so long that I don’t know how to connect with you and Gyles, I’m not sure what to do to make myself more aware of what it is that you and your brother do and aspire to. I’ve never been very good with interacting with people who were not either family or close friends and after everything that happened to our family and my friends because of what I’ve done, I’m not sure exactly how to connect to someone without hurting them. I never gave your father or mother the respect they deserved and treated them as pawns in the larger game I was playing, and it was stupid and it meant that my son, your father died and that there was a hole in my heart, and after all that, I never thought I was worthy of knowing you or interacting with you or your brother, after the disregard I showed your parents. I didn’t think I deserved a place in your lives after the way I callously discarded your father’s. I am sorry if you thought that my spending time with Lucerys was because I didn’t care for you, I never meant for that. And I am so very sorry that it has hurt you and made you think I don’t love you, I do Daemon, and truly I do. And if I can make it up to you in anyway, I would be more than happy to do so.”

Her husband is crying as well now, and soon enough Daemon and Daeron are hugging and sobbing, muttering words that Dacey can’t hear but hoping that they will heal the rift that was there. They break apart at the sound of a door knocking, Dacey calls for whoever it is to come in and is surprise to see Asphell Wull standing in the doorway looking ashen faced and sorrowful. “Your Graces, forgive me, but you must come quickly, something has happened to the Princess and her daughter.”


	45. The Sands Of Time

**Lord Berros Yronwood**

Winter was over, or so the maesters said, it had never truly reached Dorne, not properly at least, true it had become colder but the snow and ice that was said to have affected the northern kingdoms had not dared make its way past the Prince’s Pass. As such trade between the Dornish houses and the Free Cities continued to flourish and Berros Yronwood knew that his house’s coffers were nearly as full as they had been before the Blackfyre wars had ever truly begun. That was something that he was deeply proud of, it was something that the Martells could not take away from him and his family, not like they had taken everything else away from him. For Princess Loreza Martell, who was new to her reign as the ruling Princess of Dorne was many things but when it came to money she was not as smart as some would have you think. There were ways in which one could hide the revenue coming in from customs that came straight to you and not through port, and as such Berros had put those to good use.

The money he was putting to good use, building up an alliance with other Dornish houses who had become disillusioned with House Martell and their connections with the dragonlords who ruled them from King’s Landing. Kingsgrave, Blackmont, Hellholt, Skyreach and High Hermitage had already agreed to an alliance should a chance present itself for a potential revolt and removal of the Martells from power. The key to bringing most of Dorne to their side lay with the Fowlers of Skyreach, that Lord Fowler had felt scorned that his son had not been wed to Loreza Martell had served to push him straight in Berros’ arms. The Martells had become complacent since joining the rest of Westeros, believing themselves invincible with the dragonlords backing, they had become arrogant and had forgotten what it was to be truly Dornish.

Loreza Martell was a very passionate woman, fiery as well, Berros had tumbled with her many a time in their youth but now, now she had come and shown just how much a viper she truly was. She had demanded his son, Edgar as a hostage, she said that his son was a ward, but he knew threat when he saw one. There was talk from the north that the King on the Iron Throne meant to bring war to the kingdoms once more, and that the Golden Company was about to invade as well, and as such Berros knew that the whore from Sunspear would not hesitate to kill Edgar should the Blackfyres invade and Berros called his banners. And yet the whore was as complacent as her father had been, she might be wed to his cousin, but she knew not what Corben truly was like, a viper, that was what he was, and though Berros did not like nor trust his cousin, he knew how to use him.

All was not well between husband and wife, it would seem, and so Berros had used that knowledge to his advantage, there were various ways in which one could free a hostage from the Water Gardens. House Martell had wanted its bannermen to believe that the place was neigh impenetrable and yet their habit of having the sons and daughters of these very same bannermen plays in the water gardens would prove to be their downfall. There were various servants who had been there since the time of Berros’ grandfather when Yronwood and Martell had been close allies, and as such the secrets of the Gardens were well known in Yronwood. Certain guards had been paid off, or had always been on Yronwood coin and as such they had instructions that the minute activity was heard from Sunspear, Berros’ son was to be escorted away to Yronwood under the cover of night and chaos. Loreza Martell might be smart but she would not take his son from him, House Martell had already taken much from him.

His sister had died cold and alone, broken from home in a foreign place because of House Martell. She had given birth to a royal bastard, Gyles his name was, Berros had never met the lad but he had written to him on many occasions and from the letters had garnered that the lad was quite a bit like Elia had been. Free spirited and passionate, with a skill for arms, and his brother Daemon’s right hand. That was good, Yronwood and Stark had been allies for some time and though Daeron Stark seemed to have lost the plot, his grandsons seemed perfectly capable of taking over for him. Gyles Snow, that was what his nephew was called, Stark his name truly should be, for if what his sources told him Gyles did more for the north than anyone but his brother truly acknowledged, the enforcer to his brothers’ words and threats. Both of them would be a fierce duo when their time came, Berros simply hoped that Daeron Stark would not isolate them as he had done Berros’ cousin Aegor, Elia had written to him of their cousin calling him frustrated and angry, despondent with the madman aunt Arianne’s husband had become, that Elia had given their cousin some form of happiness was good, and Berros prayed that it had been enough.

His own family was united for once, his grandfather had had many children from three wives, and they had all competed for favour with him, Lord Donton Yronwood had been a fierce man, and had treated his family well and justly during his long tenure as Lord of the Bloodroyal, his death had crushed Berros’ father, Ormund who had not lived long after his father. Berros had come to power as head of House Yronwood some ten years ago now, and as such he had done all he could to provide for the various relations of his that needed seeing to, those that proved worthy he rewarded and promised them important positions in his court once Dorne was free, those who proved less worth wile were sent on missions they never came back from. There was only a set amount of mouths he could feed after all.

As he called for the lords who he would speak with to be shown into his solar, he found it funny how all those in Dorne and north of the marches thought House Yronwood had been cowed, they never would learn these Westerosi, Dorne could never been cowed. As the lords were seated, Berros took a moment to assess each on of them for strengths and weaknesses. Lord Perros Blackmont a fierce warrior smart as well he would die before he broke, Lord Dickon Manwoody Lord of Kingsgrave not a warrior like his brother but a very cunning man who had spies everywhere, he would serve his own means first, Ser Andros Dayne Knight of High Hermitage, a bitter man skilled with the sword who wanted what his cousins had Starfall and Dawn and then there was Lady Parisa Uller, the mad Uller who was cunning and smart and devious all in one, an interesting ally to have. Berros cleared his throat then and spoke. “I thank you my lords and lady for coming here today to speak of a most important matter. As we all know there are interesting events afoot, the King on the Iron Throne plots an invasion of the north, whilst our Princess fails to produce another child to go along with Prince Doran. The time is ripe now for a rebellion.”

Lord Blackmont spoke bluntly. “Aye a rebellion, and who else would join us my lord? Fowler continues to hover on the edges, the Daynes of Starfall will remain steadfast to Sunspear and the rest hover an wait to see what we shall do. I say we wait.”

“My lord of Blackmont has lost his stomach for a fight in his dotage.” Ser Andros said smiling menacingly. “The Daynes of Starfall will do nothing, not if I call their men to my banner. Their support of Sunspear will be enough to drive them away from Dorne. That is one of Martell’s allies gone for you my lords.”

Blackmont bristled then and snapped. “And how do you propose to get the men sworn to Starfall to rally to your banner Andros? You come from the lesser branch of the house and do not wield Dawn. They will not follow you, no more than they would follow anyone not called Lord Dagon.”

Andros merely smiled and said. “There are ways one can get men to follow them without being of the main line my lord. You yourself proved that long ago.”

Before the conversation could be derailed further, Berros spoke. “My lady of Uller, how do preparations go on your end, has there been word from Ghost Hill?”

Lady Parisa Uller smiled a toothless smile and then lisped. “Aye my lord there has been. Lord Toland has remembered our old alliance and has decided that he would like nothing more than to make the dragon suns dance to our tune once more. So Toland will join our force at the Sandy range along with Sandstone.”

“Qorgyle has finally consented then?” Berros asked.

“Aye my lord, his men muster in the shade of the scorpion and Sunspear is none the wiser.” Lady Uller replied.

“That is good news indeed. Now then, the marcher lords will most likely be keeping an eye on the Prince’s Pass. Perros, Dickon I want you to send some scouts and riders out to harass them and keep them occupied. If what my men in the east tell me soon enough there will most definitely be another war in the north and this time Dorne will be on the beneficial end of it all.” Berros said.

“What of The Tor my lord? Desmerick Jordayne holds the key to Martell strength and as such has not answered our ravens nor has he responded to polite requests from Loreza Martell. We all know the Jordaynes are half mad as well as the Ullers, no offense meant my lady. What is there to say he will not declare himself king as well?” Lord Manwoody asked.

Berros was silent for a moment and then said. “The Jordaynes will do nothing. I was fostered with Desmerick; he wants nothing but to be left alone. He might hold a lot of the Martell strength now, but he will do nothing that will jeopardize his own plans and motives. Sunspear shall not have their resources to use during this war.”

“That still leaves Godsgrace and Salt Shore and the Orphans of the Greenblood have been known to love Loreza Martell and your own cousin my lord. Whilst I accept we shall not get all of the lords to our cause, I do wish to know what you intend to do with Prince Corben once this war is done.” Lord Perros asked.

Berros took a sip of wine, and then said. “Corben has always been a viper, he always was devious and cunning when we were children. Yet he does not have the brains to put his gifts to proper use. That he is sleeping with Lady Wyl is clear proof of that, the Martells are a divided family that has become apparent. My cousin will be dealt with in good time, you need not fear that. As will his children.”

Blackmont merely looked angry at his answer. “I asked how and what, not for some blather about your musings on them my lord.”

Berros sighed, Blackmonts had always been very prickly when it came to direct answers with regards to family. “Very well if you must know, Corben and his wife shall be slain, as will his son Doran. Manfrey Martell shall be sent to Ghaston Grey. My nephew Gyles shall aid us in this conflict.”

At that there was some murmuring. “Is the lad sane my lord?” Lady Uller asked.

Berros snorted and said. “Aye my lady that much I know and he is a good warrior, we shall benefit from having him here with us. This time we shall not fail, that much I promise you.”

* * *

 

**High Steward Lord Edwyle Stark**

Winter a dreary month, a foreboding month or so the words of the royal family said. Winter is coming, was the words of Winterfell and so it seemed winter had come, for the royal family as it had come for them for many years now. Princesses Samaira and Jorelle, wife and daughter of Prince Daemon, heir to the winter throne were dead. Slain by an assassin. The man had come from the south, sent by King Aegon Targaryen the king in the south as an attempt to provoke the north to war once more and thus give the southern dragon an excuse to call his banners and fight the north once more. The Princesses had had their throats slit, in the godswood; only a passerby had heard their screams and had gone to get the Winter’s Guard. Danger lurked in the shadows now, and the brief reconciliation that the King and his grandson had had was on tenterhooks, with the prince blaming both the Targaryens and his grandfather for his wife and daughter’s deaths, though there had been no confrontation between the two of them, there had been between the Prince and the boy, Lucerys Blackfyre.

Edwyle had never liked Lucerys Blackfyre or for that matter most of the Blackfyres, their heads were filled with air most of the time, and they lacked basic common sense. Edwyle had never understood why his cousin and king had always insisted on dragging the north into southern affairs, but that was not for him to question. Still Lucerys Blackfyre was a little worm of a man, whose death would be relief to all. Edwyle had been there when Lucerys Blackfyre had cornered Prince Daemon in the training yard and had said that the deaths of his wife and child were much better than what he deserved, being the northern scum that he was. Edwyle frankly was surprised that Prince Daemon had not killed Lucerys Blackfyre there and then, instead that Blackfyre had gotten away with badly broken ribs and a damaged eye was frankly quite lucky for him. Edwyle suspected it had something to do with the fact that Prince Daemon’s bastard brother Gyles had pulled his brother off of the dragon boy before too much damage could be done.

Daeron Stark had actually acted as a king and had sent Lucerys Blackfyre to Last Hearth and spoken with his grandson, what words were said Edwyle knew not but he knew that the two men were closer now than they had ever been before. Both worked tirelessly to numb the fall out from the actions of the assassin, and though Blackfyre returned he was not as well looked on by Daeron as he had been, and Daemon came into his own. The meetings were held and the options were discussed. A retaliatory war would not go down too well unless the cause was definitely going to be successful, and so war was declared null, Edwyle made sure the prince still go his revenge though, allowing the lad the chance to flay all the information he could get out of the man before he died. From that they had discovered some rather useful things.

The king on the iron throne had his spies in Winterfell and the north once more, who reported on everything that happened in the northern court that was how Aegon Targaryen had learnt about the war machines and the divisions within the royal family. The spies were all gone now, dead or fled, some were still hanging by their skins to the godswood in the Wolfswood right now, something Edwyle approved of. Reports had been found in some of the servants quarters detailing things that had been going on for years, and notes on where the weak spots of the north’s defences were, were accurately described, there was a mole somewhere deep within court and as such they had not been able to find them before the defences had been ordered. White Harbour was heavily defended as was the Stony Shore the Iron Fleet was ready and rearing to go, and Moat Cailin and the Neck remained impenetrable.

All of this work had meant Edwyle had returned to Moat Cailin for the first time in about five years, to see his family properly. Relations with his wife were still a wee bit awkward but then again Edwyle had never been good with women, he had done his duty though and had two sons to show for it. Rickard who was a man grown now, not wed yet but soon enough he would be, stern and solemn much like Edwyle himself. Brandon fifteen and a good swordsman if a bit light in the head when it came to common sense. Thankfully the boy was no longer friends with Lucerys Blackfyre, after finally seeing him for what he was, his son had decided to cut ties with him. Edwyle was proud of his boys, and he knew they would carry on the hard work he and his own brothers and father had put in for all those years once his time came, which it soon would. Another war and then perhaps he could retire to the north and make his peace with the gods.

His sister Melissa was ailing; winter had been hard for her and her husband. Jon Royce had died from a fever during the early months of winter, and as such his son Artos had taken the reigns. The lad was a good man, smart and cunning with a skill for strategy, it was his brother, Edwyle’s second nephew, Domeric who was the muscle in that family, with his ability to swing a sword and put his brother’s strategies in place. The other children were either dead, or were dying now the southern invasion of the north had begun. Bringing with it the memories that Edwyle had done his best to try and forget they kept coming back to him, over and over again, his brother dying before his eyes, the starvation and the desperation.

Still he kept ordering more and more men to go and man the walls and he would watch them fall to southern arrows and something within him would rage and demand to be released. The southerners were struggling though, Lord Donnor Reed and his cranongmen were harassing them every step of the way. Lord Mallister and his men were bogged down in heavy armour and with heavy horse, they would soon flounder. Rickard had control of the main fighting, Elaena looked for men from the skies and Edwyle, Edwyle fought with his teeth and his claws, using the leader of the pack to confront those men that escaped his men’s notice.

_Snarling, he jumped for the two legged beast, biting and tearing. The beast screamed and tried to shoot at him, but he jumped out of the way and snarled once more. Cutting into human flesh on and on it went, biting, jumping, tearing, ducking, the screams filled his ears, the blood filled his nose and on and on it went. One man tried to attack from behind but the bird flew down and pecked its eyes out and the beast did not try anything again. He could smell fear and blood on the two legged humans and on he went, tearing and biting, he enjoyed this, these two legged beasts were foes the voice told him they needed to die._

_Jump, snarl, bite and tear the hunt the fight, it was all sending his blood pumping, the adrenaline was going. On and on he bit he tore, he cut and he snarled. He was the king and this was his territory. Beside him his pack did the same, biting and snarling and growling they had been woken from their slumber and it was not a good thing to do not now, not during winter. They were kings of winter and these two legged animals needed to learn to fear them. He jumped and bit once more and the process continued._

_“Brother,” a voice said. “Don’t lose yourself brother. You must defend the castle as you did as a boy brother.” The voice disappeared. Edwyle howled after it and chased it but the crow came in the way and sent him back to biting, hacking and snarling at the men who were trying to attack his home, they died by his command and his growl and his mouth and they died screaming just like his brother had._

Edwyle came to sweating, breathing heavily. The sounds of battle were faint now, but they could still be heard. His wife was sat in the corner sewing; she looked up when she heard him move. “Most of them are dead my lord. Rickard led the defence very well. They are dealing with the stragglers.”

“Where is Elaena?”Edwyle asked his voice parched.

“With Rickard. She is guiding his men to the ones who got away my lord.” His wife replied.

Edwyle nodded and then stood up. He walked out onto the battlements, whistled and the sent the pack of direwolves into the neck. He knew where Mallister would take his men and it would be his death trap.


	46. Doctor, Doctor

**Prince Daemon Stark**

Winter had come for Daemon Stark, with a sharp knife and slit throats. His wife and daughter were dead, he had been the one to bury them in the ground, and no one else would have been given that honour. That they were dead was still a shock to him, both of them had seemed so alive and so vibrant when he had last seen them, walking out to go and pray in the godswood. That they were dead now and no longer there, that he would never hear his wife’s beautiful voice and sweet talk or get to see his daughter grow, that stung, and it made his grief all the harder to bear when he saw his men saying goodbye to their wives and children. It made him angry as well and hunger for revenge.  He knew the reason why they had died, Aegon Targaryen the dragon scum in the south had sent the assassin to kill his girls in order to provoke a conflict from his grandfather the Winter Dragon a man who Daemon was still on shaky terms with. Lucerys Blackfyre was the cause of all of this, and when the man had said something, made a jab at him after a sparring session Daemon had lost his cool and Lucerys Blackfyre had lost many teeth, and had ended up with a damaged rib, the man was cocky and over confident and his grandfather had just begun to see it.

Still he supposed that there was nothing he could do about Blackfyre, the man had his grandfather’s protection for now and Daemon did not want to damage his already strained relationship with his grandfather by killing Lucerys, even if the cunt did deserve to die. No instead he was using his time as commander of the northern forces to vent out his anger and grief on the world. His grandfather was improving at least, he had finally seen Lucerys Blackfyre for what he truly was that day in the training yard, and had ordered that the man be sent to Last Hearth to recuperate for some time, after that incident Daemon had fully expected his grandfather to give him a bollocking for hurting his favourite grandson, but no, his grandfather had surprised him by admitting that Blackfyre was out of line and that if he ever said anything like that again Daemon’s grandfather would kill him, himself. His grandfather had also offered his condolences, and this time when the war council was convened Daemon was included in all the discussions whilst Blackfyre was not. It seemed as if his grandfather truly was trying to make an effort now and Daemon appreciated that.

There was still a part of Daemon, a rather large part if he was being truthful to himself that hungered for his grandfather’s approval, and so when his grandfather had ordered him to lead the bulk of the northern host south towards Moat Cailin to defend it from an impending attack from southerners Daemon had jumped at the chance. As such the battle of Moat Cailin had been a bloody affair, the southerners had marched from the riverlands in bulk some 15,000 men from the Riverlands had marched up through the Neck being bled dry by Lord Donnor Reed and the cranongmen those that survived had been beleaguered and angry, and as such they had fallen prey to the traps that Edwyle Stark had set them, Daemon had watched from the hill of the Olden Times as the southerners had been ravaged by the direwolves and the shadowcats that were under the High Steward’s command and his own direwolf had taken part in the slaughter once the signal had been given and the southerners had come fleeing down towards the hill.

His sword had tasted much blood on that day, and it had made him feel as if some sort of justice was being given for the deaths of his wife and child, and for the deaths of every northmen in conflicts gone past. The southerners had all been slaughtered only Lord Mallister had been left alive, and Daemon had ordered that the man be made to watch as his other men were put to the sword or were tortured for information in front of him. Daemon would give the man credit where credit was due, he was a hard man, and did not balk for much of what he saw, though the minute Daemon had the man’s son brought forth he began begging and pleading for mercy. Daemon had looked at him and had simply said. “My wife and daughter were innocent of the crimes my grandfather has committed. But they got no mercy and neither shall you nor your son.” Mallister and his heir were tortured for every piece of information they had, and soon enough they were killed their entrails hung on the heart tree as an offering to the old gods for a successful campaign. Lucerys Blackfyre had witnessed Daemon questioning the prisoners and as such had said nothing but he had looked very scared, Daemon had been pleased with that, good he had thought, let the dragon boy be scared it would make his life much easier.

Though one southern host was defeated another had attacked the eastern coast and though Daemon had been desperate to help them, he knew that they could not risk the chance of the south sending more men to attack the Moat not now, and so he had sent word to Lord Dreadstark under his grandfather’s approval and had asked him to help defend White Harbour, and from there Daemon and the remaining 12,000 men had marched south towards the Twins where Lord Walder Frey had met them. Daemon had heard much about Lord Walder from his grandmother and from various northern lords, they all said the man lived in awe of Daeron Stark and Daemon’s own father Aegor Stark and that he would provide them with what aid he could. They had not been wrong Walder Frey had provided them with information and gold and had even given them some 400 men led by his bastard son Walder Rivers to aid them in their conquest of the Riverlands. As such they had been in the Twins for a week now letting themselves recuperate and regain their strength but the time for that had passed and so Daemon had summoned a war council.

The council met in the main war tent that Daemon used as his own accommodations for now, to lessen the stress on Lord Walder. His direwolf Mars sat at his feet asleep. The lords who were present in the council tent were battle hardened veterans and men he had grown up with. There was his aunt Elaena’s husband Beron Umber the ever faithful Lord of Last Hearth, Daemon’s sister Rhaenrya’s husband Lord Laenor Mormont strong as an ox and cunning as a fox, Lords Cerwyn and Tallhart were present as well as were Lord Jon Royce and Daemon’s cousin Rickard Stark, Blackfyre was also there as was Lords Ryswell and Dustin. Daemon cleared his throat and the murmuring stopped. “My lords, I thank you for coming here. As you know we have been here at the Twins for a week now, and whilst it might be nice to have some wenches and a soft bed for the time being, our waiting here will not win us this war. I would hear your thoughts on where we should march next.”

As expected Lord Beron spoke first. “Well we know from Lord Weasel that Lord Tytos Lannister has amassed a host and is marching towards the Red Fork potentially meaning to march north and fight us here on the banks of the Green Fork. Whilst Prince Aelix Targaryen has been given men from the crownlands to assail us. Aelix is a green boy, Tytos Lannister and his westermen are the true threat, we must deal with them first.”

Lucerys Blackfyre opened his mouth and Daemon could have groaned. “Lannister is a craven at the sight of our army he will dip his banners and add his strength to ours. No there will be no challenge there Aelix is a Targaryen and we must deal with the Targaryens, I say we march and fight Aelix’s host.”

“And risk being flanked in the rear by the westermen? Do you have water in your head boy? Lannister’s host is by far bigger and more experienced, men like Lefford and Crakehall have fought more wars than you have seen winters boy. We must fight Lannister and then turn our attention on Aelix Targaryen.” Lord Roger Ryswell said.

Blackfyre bristled then and said. “Lannister and his toadies will be a long time coming from the Tooth if you wish to fight them be my guest Lord Ryswell, I will meet and fight Aelix Targaryen on the field and give you his head as a present when we meet again shall I?”

“Boldly spoken my prince,” Lord Laenor said in his soft voice. “But we know that Aelix Targaryen’s host is not as great a threat to us as Lord Lannister’s. I agree with Lord Umber and say that we should march west to meet and put an end to the Westermen once and for all.”

“Did Lord Frey not say that Duncan Targaryen is amassing another host in the crownlands to deal with the Golden Company, as I do believe they are invading sometime soon? Perhaps Aelix Targaryen and his men will march south to aid his brother. What information do we have of Lord Tully?” Lord Dustin asked, calm as ever.

Daemon spoke then. “Lord Walder told me that the majority of the riverlands strength went north with Lord Mallister, as such they are all dead in the ground now. So whatever strength Riverrun has left to call will be of the minor houses. I would rather he not get the chance to add that strength to either of the two hosts that are marching towards us.”

“So you would rather face a tamed lion than a false dragon is that the way of it Stark?” Lucerys said contemptuously. “Very well then since Lord Daeron has given you command we shall bow to your wishes, but next time we shall not be so lenient.”

“Why thank you for the concession my prince.” Damon said sarcastically. “Now I shall speak with Lord Walder and tell him where we shall be marching. Lord Umber you shall have the van, Lucerys you shall have the right, I shall have the left and Lord Dustin you shall have the reserve.”

And so later that night Daemon spoke with Lord Walder Frey, and the man had a few choice words to say. “So you will fight the cowardly lion then eh boy? Heh a smart move, take the lion out and the dragons will scamper like the mice they truly are. Very well, my bastard Walder will show you where to wait for them, and we shall send out false reports to any scouts they send.” Daemon and his 12,000 men rode out south the next morning with Walder Rivers and the 400 men Walder Frey had sent from the Twins riding with them, they arrived at the Blue Fork late two nights later, tired but eager to begin battle.

“The Lannisters followed a trail to the west of here my prince.” Walder rivers said deferentially. “They will find the marshes hard to manoeuvre through and will likely stumble upon your host. Best be ready.”

Three nights after that, the sound of hooves and voices could be heard from the far side of the fork, and sure enough lion banners could be seen, Daemon ordered his men saddled and ready and when he raised his sword into the air, the Lannisters were setting up camp. Daemon and his northmen fell on them with the howl of winter and the wind backing them and urging them on. The Battle of the Blue Fork was a massacre, Daemon swung his sword left and right, left and right and centre, cutting through men, tearing them to pieces fighting like a man possessed, none could stand before him. Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard Asphell Wull and Maron Greyjoy also of the grey cloaks were behind him the whole time like grey shadows.

The Lannister host was cut to shreds, their numbers were actually significantly less than what Daemon had been led to believe almost as if most of the Westerlords did not wish to answer the summons of their liege lord. An interesting development Daemon thought, but not one he could ponder for very long, as his attention was brought back to the fray and the battle raging on around him. Eventually most of the Lannister men were dead or surrendered, some fled and Daemon let them though afterwards he learnt Lord Lannister himself was a prisoner and that the man’s brother Ser Edrick had been slain. The battle of the Blue Fork took place on the fifth day of the fifth month of the 249th year after Aegon’s Landing, the Black Dragon and the Winter Dragons had spread their wings and the world heard them roar in the sound of Winter.

* * *

 

**Prince Duncan the Small**

Samaira and Jorelle Stark were dead, killed by the assassin his father had sent north to deal with the princesses of the north and force Daeron Stark’s hand. Stark had remained silent though, as unmoving as the Wall, and as such Duncan’s father had instead ordered Lord Mallister to move north and attack the north, that had failed but Duncan could not get the fact that his father, the man who was so kind and calm amongst the viper’s pit of court had actually ordered a woman and child innocent of any crimes committed by the Starks themselves, to be killed. It shocked him and he had a hard time reconciling the man he saw before him to that same man. The two Stark women were dead, the north was in uproar and his father had simply said that it was a necessary evil that needed to be done.

The attack on Moat Cailin itself had failed, as far as their sources and reports coming from the north told them, the battle had been butchery. The northmen had clearly been expecting them and had had time to prepare. Lord Mallister’s men 15,000 in total were all dead, slaughtered in the Neck or fighting against the walls of the Moat, or brought down by animals some said. Daemon Stark had gone into a rage for revenge and so had apparently tortured Mallister and his men for days until he had gotten the answers he had wanted and even then that had not been enough, Mallister and his men were now rotting in the ground. The strength of the riverlands gone and broken on the northern fortress. Stark had marched south and had spent time at the Twins, Walder Frey had been written to and simply said he was housing an old friend and nothing more, though when news of the result of the Blue Fork had reached them and the decimation of the Lannister forces there, Duncan’s father had yelled and screamed and all hell had broken loose in court.

Duncan was only grateful that his own task of decimating the eastern coast of the north had been successful. His father had sent the royal fleet and some 10,000 men with him and instructed him to “Destroy White Harbour and lay plunder to all that is there in that barren wasteland.” And so Duncan had gone north with the royal fleet, commanded by his uncle by marriage Lord Maegon Velaryon, his cousins, Ser Steffon Swann and Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard and they had come to anchor at Widow’s Watch. The Flint’s of Widow’s Watch were all dead now, Duncan’s men had seen to that. Butchering women and children were they stood as well as the men who put up a fight. From Widow’s Watch they moved Ramsgate at the mouth of the Broken Branch, the castle and its lands had been deserted, but there was plunder there that Duncan had ordered taken back to the ships of the royal fleet that were not sailing to White Harbour to burn the ships of the northern fleet stationed there.

Actual fighting had met them between Ramsgate and White Harbour. Men led by Lord Rodwell Manderly and Lord Donnel Berstark, numbering some 6,000 men had faced them on the plains of southern delta. It had been carnage, Duncan’s 10,000 men were not used ot winter but were more prepared for the fighting and as such the Battle of the Southern Delta as it was now known had swung in their favour after the death not of Lord Manderly but of Lord Donnel Stark the old man who was past eighty had died as he had lived according to one man they had taken prisoner with a sword in his hand. With Manderly and Berstark dead White Harbour itself was lightly defended and so Duncan had ordered his men to the city. What followed was pure and utter destruction and it still haunted Duncan all these moons later.

The gates of White Harbour had fallen open to their battering rams, and the rams of the army from the Vale that had come to aid them, led by Lord Jon Arryn, it numbered some 10,000 men and had routed the force of men on the Three Sisters before coming to White Harbour. White Harbour was plundered, its wealth looted and taken back to the ships that had burned the northern fleet, the screams of men dying still echoed in Duncan’s mind sometimes at night. Those men who fought against the army were slaughtered and their women were raped their children killed as well. There was no honour in what happened in White Harbour and yet, when they actually came to taking New Castle they found the castle gates wide open, the new Lord of White Harbour, Domeric Manderly standing there beaten and bruised, the man accepted Duncan into his castle not with open arms but reluctant acceptance. The men had feasted long and hard and yet Duncan had not helped feeling that something was amiss, the Starks would respond to this and it would be harsh and heavy.

He had been proven right, two moons into their stay in White Harbour a host led by one Lord Torrhen Dreadstark arrived outside the gates of the city, the host numbered some 12,000 men. Men from House Hornwood, House Karstark, House Glover, the reserves of Winterfell and from the Mountain Clans. It seemed there was to be another battle and this time though they had greater numbers, the northmen actually knew the city better than Duncan and his men did. The fighting was fierce and Duncan himself nearly died once or twice during the battle that raged in the streets of White Harbour. The northmen fought savagely as if they had nothing to lose and on and on the battle had gone, until Duncan had seen that the way to the Harbour was still open the fleet was still there, waiting begging for them to come back. Duncan decided there and then that they had achieved what had needed to be done eastern part of the north was in ruins a great part of its naval strength destroyed, he ordered his men to retreat and so they did. Barely managing to escape with their lives.

He had returned to King’s Landing if not to a hero’s welcome than to a rather celebratory one. His father had told him that Lord Edric Baratheon had crushed a host of sellsword companies led by Ser Steffon Strickland that were fighting for the Blackfyres. The man was slain the Stormlands were secured, but there was danger afoot in the Reach, the northmen and the Ironborn on the west coast had gone raiding in the Reach and Highgarden itself faced threats from the Florents and the Costaynes and other rebels. And so Duncan’s father had sent Aelix south to aid Lord Tyrell in defending the Reach from further threat.

Much still needed to be done, and that was why Duncan was now in the small council chamber where his father, seemingly old and tired had called another council meeting. The members of the small council apart from Ser Edrick who had died fighting in the riverlands were all present. Duncan noted that his father seemed exhausted as if this was all taking a toll on him more than all had first thought. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “You all know why you are here. I would hear more news about the war.”

Lord Bolton spoke first. “Well, Daemon Stark and the northmen continue to sit on the banks of the Blue Fork, whilst some of his lords go raiding and pillaging through the riverlands. Riverrun remains unsure of what to do and the Westermen are licking their wounds. In the Reach, the Ironborn and the western northmen led by Lord Edrick Cassel continue to raid and plunder the coast, and though Lord Redwyne has mobilised his fleet they have yet to come into complete contact with them. Lord Tyrell met the host commanded by Lord Florent on the banks of the Mander and smashed them to pieces, Florent and most of his family are dead in the male line though a few cousins remain defending the castle. Tyrell continues his march to deal with Costayne and his allies now.”

Duncan saw his father nod and then heard him ask. “And what of the Vale? Has there been word from Jon Arryn yet?”

Bolton shook his head. “No Your Grace. Lord Arryn remains silent and there has been no word from the Eyrie to confirm whether he lives or not. Nor have his ships been seen in Gulltown.”

King Aegon sighed then and rubbed his forehead. “That is not good, not good at all. If Arryn is dead then that could see a crisis with regards to the succession there. Maester Justin write to them one more time, and if there is still no response from the Eyrie send word to Runestone. Lord Royce will need to raise the Valemen and march them through the Bloody Gate and towards the Riverlands. And write to Riverrun and instruct Lord Tully to stir and fight.”

Duncan spoke then. “Is that wise Your Grace? Surely it would be more prudent to wait for Tytos Lannister to raise another host before asking Lord Tully to march out to his inevitable death.”

His father looked at him then and said. “We cannot afford for Daemon Stark and the northmen to be joined by more of their countrymen, and we cannot allow the Golden Company or rebel lords to side with them. No we must weaken them further before we go for the big push. Send the ravens’ maester Justin. As for what we shall be doing about the Golden Company, Lord Bolton has there been any word on that front?”

Duncan saw the man shift through his papers before he picked up one letter that was quite badly scuffed. “There has Your Grace. Lords Celtigar and Massey report seeing ships on the horizon on several occasions and though there have been some small fights between the bands that land, there has been no other word.”

“It matters not,” the king said. “Duncan shall lead the remainder of the crownlands host that is already present here and meet up with Lords Massey and Baratheon and march on the Golden Company and wait for them when they land.”

And so it was that three weeks later Duncan found himself overlooking the place where the Blackwater flowed out into the Narrow Sea, with Ser Steffon Swann and Prince Lewyn Martell and Ser Gerold Hightower all present next to him as well as Lord Bolton and Duncan’s goodbrother Lord Edric Baratheon. Behind them their army some 15,000 strong waited with baited breath as the enemy’s ships came into sight. “I dislike this waiting.” Duncan heard his goodbrother grumble. “Give me a good clean battle and I’ll prefer it to this waiting.”

“You might get your wish my lord,” Duncan said. “Look their ships are coming to dock now. Lord Domeric sound the horn.” Bolton blew the horn and Duncan drew his sword from its sheath and prepared himself for the battle that was to come. “Sound the drums.” Duncan said and the drums sounded and then he yelled the charge and so the battle of Massey’s Hook began.

The fighting was chaotic, the men who were getting off the ships had very little time to respond to what was happening to them, and they were cut down without much of a fight. This later for some time, as the company adjusted to the lights and the atmosphere, Duncan cut through what seemed like half the host before he finally met some resistance and even then it was brief. BY the time the actual fighting got interesting his sword was stained red with the blood of dozens of men and if he really thought about it perhaps even one woman.

He cut through another man and then another, and then another before he realised something was amiss. _They bear the wrong sigil, where is the standard of the Golden Company or the black dragon of House Blackfyre. What is this flaming contraption?_ It was only after he plunged his sword through yet another man that he realised that the men were from Volantis, this had been a diversion where the golden company where he knew not, all he knew was that after his shoved his sword through a man who looked a lot like him he felt as time froze.

The battle of Massey’s Hook was fought between an army commanded by Prince Duncan Targaryen, and a host from Volantis commanded by his cousin Prince Aenar Targaryen. Aenar Targaryen was slain by his cousin on the seventh day of the twelfth month of the 249th year After Aegon’s Landing. The blood was personal now.


	47. Lights Out

**Gyles Snow**

Winter was different in the south than the north Gyles had noted whilst in the north the snow lay some five feet deep on the ground, in the south there was barely any indication of snow, for it was so small and narrow on the ground it was hard to tell where it was. It was also a lot warmer in the south than in the north, the men he’d brought from the north had worn furs and wool in the north put had found them to be far too hot and cumbersome here in Dorne and as such had had them removed, and replaced with much cooler garb.

Things in the north were much different now than they had been in his childhood. Gyles’ brother and grandfather had reached some sort of accord now and there was no longer that much tension between the two of them. This tension had characterised much of Gyles’ teenage years, with Daemon desperate for some form of approval from their grandfather and their grandfather not really paying all that much attention to them, and giving more attention to that idiot Lucerys Blackfyre. Gyles knew that his brother had been deeply hurt by that, and that he had become very, very angry with the Blackfyre family because of it and had deeply resented Lucerys and all he stood for.  Something had happened though, before Samaira and Jorelle had been murdered there had been a change in the dynamic between Daemon and their grandfather, it seemed as if they had finally discussed what it was that had been bugging them down, and as a result of that they were now working as a team, a rather formidable one at that. Gyles for his part had never really been all that bothered by the lack of attention his grandfather had shown him, he knew his grandfather cared for him and that was enough for him, he didn’t really want any sort of day to day interaction with the man.

That was why when the southerners led by Lord Massey had invaded Gyles had been a part of his brother’s army that had fought at Moat Cailin and had driven back the southerners or in most cases slaughtered them and bled them dry. Once that was done, he had ridden to White Harbour under the force that Lord Dreadstark had assembled to fight the Targaryen army that held the city, and once they had driven that army back to King’s Landing with their tails between their legs, he had boarded a ship and gone under the cover of darkness to land of his mother, Dorne.  Growing up Gyles had heard a lot about Dorne from his grandmother and from the lessons he had had with maester Grollick.  He had learnt about the people and the history, and of course when he had turned eight he had received a letter from his mother’s brother Lord Berros Yronwood and since that day had been in constant contact with his Dornish relatives.

His uncle had written to him some moons ago about his hope to try and retake Dorne for the Dornish and drive the Martells and their Targaryen influences out of the kingdom. Gyles knew just how destructive the Targaryens could be having seen it with his own two eyes in his own family and as such had been more than happy to oblige and aid his uncle in his mission. With this in mind he had taken a ship from White Harbour that had docked off the coast of the Dornish Sea, near that prison Ghaston Grey and from there is uncle had met him and they had taken a small fishing boat onto the mainland and Yronwood castle. At Yronwood Castle, Gyles had met his extended family, aunts, uncles and cousins a plenty, Lord Berros explained that Gyles’ great grandfather had married more than once and had sired many children all of whom had had children of their own, and as such had become Lord Berros’ responsibility when he had inherited his lordship. His uncle was a proud man, big and tall with blond hair and blue eyes, and a deep sense of honour and anger at the wrongs he thought the Martells had inflicted upon Dorne. That his own cousin was the prince consort to Princess Loreza did not seem to bother him, and he had an answer for everything, every question Gyles threw at him about Dorne and its people he answered.

When news had reached them of the fighting in the Stormlands and in the Riverlands that was when Lord Berros had called his banners and his allies together and they had begun the war for Dorne. House Dayne of Starfall had assembled some 3,000 men and had fought and burnt High Hermitage down to the ground, a blow to the Yronwood cause, but after that the Daynes of Starfall had been beaten at the battle of the Mound, when Gyles commanding his uncle’s vanguard had slaughtered their men by the dozens. Only a boy named Edric had escaped the slaughter and where he was no one knew.  From the mound, Gyles led the van and met up with the host being commanded by Lord Manwoody and they laid siege to Skyreach the seat of House Fowler, eventually the Fowlers had dipped their banners and surrendered to them, recognising Gyles’ uncle as their new overlord and king.

From Skyreach they moved their host to Sandstone, where they had had word Lord Qorgyle meant to move against them, there had been a short battle there and after it, Qorgyle’s heir had bent the knee and added his remaining men to their host. The hosts commanded by Gyles and Lord Manwoody met up with the main Yronwood host at Hellholt where they sat and planned their next move. Word was coming in thick and fast about the war raging in the north. Prince Duncan had led a host that had defeated the men from Volantis, killing his cousin in the process. Tytos Lannister had been defeated by Daemon on the Blue Fork, and had retreated to the Westerlands. Lord Tully had assembled a battered host and had had it smashed by Daemon’s force in the Whispering Wood, leaving Riverrun open for siege.

That was all well and good, but it seemed as if Sunspear had finally recognised the true threat that Gyles and his uncle were to them, and as such rumours were they had finally assembled a host to meet them in battle. That was why Gyles’ uncle had called a war council to discuss what their next point of action should be, apart from Gyles and his uncle Lord Berros, Lords Manwoody, Blackmont, Fowler, Qorgyle and Lady Uller were all present. The heat was becoming unbearable as they all sat in silence waiting for Lord Berros to begin speaking, when he did so, Gyles nearly sighed with relief. “My lords and lady, you all know what the situation is. We hold all the castles south of the Prince’s Pass right up till the beginnings of the Vaith. We all know that, Princess Loreza has called her remaining banners to Sunspear, but that Lady Vaith has refrained from sending her men. Lord Manwoody I would hear how the negotiations with the lady went.”

Lord Dickon Manwoody was a stout man who was more a diplomat than a warrior Gyles had found, though a very useful ally to have. He spoke softly in response to Lord Berros’ question. “Negotiations were underwhelming Your Grace. Lady Vaith has refused the terms you have offered her and insists on keeping the passageway through the Vaith blocked to our men. Her men have been instructed to fire at will if we so much as try and move round the moat of her castle.”

Gyles heard his uncle sigh. “Is there no other way we could get passed the Vaith without needing to engage in mindless combat?”

“We could always head south and march on for Salt Shore Your Grace.” Lord Blackmont said.

“And risk having Lady Vaith bring her strength down and attack us from behind? I think that foolish my lords.” Lady Uller said.

“House Vaith has only some 1,000 men to call together my lady.” Lord Qorgyle said. “His Grace has some 9,000 men not including the reserves the Tor has promised us. I say we march not south but north and follow the Scourge to where it will lead us.”

Lord Berros was silent for a moment, and then he asked. “Gyles my lad, what do you think we should do?”

At first Gyles had been surprised that his uncle would ask for the opinion of a mere bastard, but as time had worn on he had come to find that all the lords and lady gathered here took his opinion very seriously. He supposed being a skilled warrior and a proven commander helped, even if he still felt green as grass. He chose his words carefully in response. “I believe Lord Qorgyle’s suggestion is the wisest course of action for us at this moment in time Your Grace. Marching south would seal our death warrant, marching north and then following the Scourge will bring us to Godsgrace, a castle empty of men that will fall easily enough. From there we shall have enough men and the sight to see where the Martells move their men.”

They marched for Godsgrace the next morning, and they took the castle easily enough. No blood was shed, the minute the castellan of the Godsgrace saw their banners he opened the gates of the castle and formally acknowledged Lord Berros as his king and overlord. From Godsgrace they learnt of the host that was commanded by Berros’ cousin Prince consort Corben Yronwood that was at Shandystone. Lord Berros upon learning of this smiled with glee and simply said. “It seems my cousin has fallen for an old trap of ours. That shall be his downfall and my crowning glory.”

The host moved out, 9,000 strong against the 7,000 men that Prince Corben had under his control. They met on the ridges of Shandystone, a small town upon a hill that provided cover in night and full view of the armies during the sun. The battle would go down as the bloodiest during the Yronwood rebellion. Men died screaming in pain, Gyles fought like a man possessed, some would later describe him as fighting like a god like his grandfather had during the first Blackfyre war. Many men died to his spear and to his sword, and it was he who dealt the killing blow to Prince Corben, swing and then a hack that took the man’s head off and broke the Martell’s remaining forces and sent them scampering in all directions.

From Shandystone the Yronwood host marched for Sunspear, where after a brief struggle outside the city gates, they entered the town and found the place filled with people all of whom were singing the praises of Lord Berros and of Gyles. When they entered the Palace of the Sun, they found it nearly empty the men there were dead, slain or poisoned, the Martells fled, to King’s Landing. They had left a skeleton garrison to hold the castle, and there was some fighting within the castle, Gyles pushing through the men that stood in his path like they were nothing more than sacks of meat, his spear was red and bloody by the time he was done. All was not finished yet, they held Sunspear but there was a chance that there might something of use in the Water Gardens, and so it was that Gyles rode hard for the Water Gardens and returned some days later with Princess Daenaerys Targaryen, a frail old woman but one that would give them a sign of authority and legitimacy, the dragon princess was forced to accept Yronwood sovereignty and with her so did countless others.

The Martells had lost their authority, they had lost Sunspear and they had lost Dorne. For thousands of years the Yronwoods had thought that they were the rightful rulers of Dorne, not the Rhoynar influenced Martells. On the first day of the third month of the 250th year after Aegon’s Landing, the day that Lord Berros Yronwood was crowned King of Dorne, and his lords pledged featly to him, their dream was finally recognised.

\--------------

**King Aegon V Targaryen**

Winter was a time for more woe than joy Aegon Targaryen had come to find. His father had died during the last winter to hit Westeros, and now his whole plan was coming to pieces. He had thought that by sending the assassin to deal with Daemon Stark’s wife and daughter, he would further splinter the relations between Daeron and Daemon Stark. Instead all that it seemed to have done was make their relationship stronger and anger the north and Daemon Stark that the north had not immediately marched south was an indication that Daeron Stark was once more thinking rationally and it was driving Aegon mad with anger and grief. He knew very well what had happened to Lord Mallister and his men at Moat Cailin, and that Duncan had just about managed to escape with his life at White Harbour. There was more and more information coming through about the progress the north was making during this war.

Tytos Lannister continued to cower at Casterly Rock afraid of his own shadow, Lord Tully was a captive of Daemon Stark, and Riverrun under siege, and the remenants of the Riverlands host that had fought at the Whispering Wood had either fled into the night or had turned themselves over for a brand of harsh northern justice. All these victories were accredited to Lucerys Blackfyre, but Aegon was no fool his spies had told him the truth of the matter. It was Daemon Stark, the angry wolf who was leading and planning these battles and victories, the man was nearly as unstoppable as his grandfather. These victories had served to bring more support out for the Black Dragon, in the Reach lords led by Lord Costayne had been causing problems for the Tyrells, raiding and fleeing into the woods when the man tried to give open battle. The Ironborn continued to raid along the coast of the Reach and when the Redwyne Fleet had engaged them in battle they had burnt some of the ships and then gone raiding along the Westerlands, the Redwyne Fleet had returned to the Arbor, hindered and burnt.

The only good piece of news had come from the Stormlands, his goodson Lord Edric Baratheon had managed to drive off the sellsword companies who had invaded. Duncan had also managed to destroy the Volanteene army that Aegon’s traitorous brother had sent from Volantis. The question that still plagued Aegon though was where the Golden Company was. His spies had reported that they had left Tyrosh, their ships had been sighted leaving the port some months ago, but none knew where they were or where they would land. Some thought that they might invade the Stormlands and that the sellsword companies that had been sent before was just a probe, Aegon was not convinced of that, Haegon Blackfyre was far too smart for that. Others thought that they would land in the Riverlands and fight alongside Stark to bring Riverrun to heel, Aegon did believe that might be plausible option, though another option could be that they invaded the Vale, the kingdom that since Duncan’s retreat from White Harbour had done nothing of note, not since Lord Jon Arryn had been taken hostage. Aegon’s attempts to bring them back into the war had failed and it was beginning to drive him mad.

A knock on the door saw Grand Maester Justin enter and give him a letter, he looked at the seal and saw that it was the sigil of Lord Mooton, not his son Aelix and he felt a small drop in his stomach as his fear grew. He dismissed Justin and broke the seal and read the letter, and felt his hands shake afterwards. Rhae had been right; Aelix was too young to be commanding a host into battle, Aegon himself had not done something like that until he was thirty years old. And because of his own stubborn insistence that both of his sons lead men into war, Aelix had gotten himself killed. A great battle had been fought between the Tyrell men and the rebel reacherlords, Aelix had joined his strength to that of the Tyrells and at the Whispering sound the men had clashed in a duel of steel on steel, and his son had been slain by Ser Arthur Ambrose. Brought down due to Aelix attempting to be a hero and bring the man down himself. The Golden Company it appeared had landed in the Reach and had aided the traitors in their fight.

His son was dead, his baby boy was dead, and it was his fault, his quest to bring the north back into the realm had cost him one of his son’s. Duncan was still out in the field fighting off the rebels who had somehow made it to Maidenpool. Jaehaerys was at Dragonstone, dealing with things there, but might be susceptible to the place being captured, nowhere was safe not now. He called for Ser Gerold Hightower to get his wife. When Rhae entered the room she was shaking, the fever was strong within her, and Aegon passed her the letter and watched the light leave her eyes. She said nothing but he knew that she blamed him she had warned him of what folly his desire was, and now their son lay dead in some field in the Reach because of it. It was his entire fault. She simply took the letter and then stormed out.

Aegon stood staring at the place where his wife had been moments before, and then shook his head and asked Ser Gerold to get Lord Bolton, Dunk and his goodbrother Lord Maegon Velaryon. When the three men entered the room Aegon waited for them to be seated before he said. “My son Aelix is dead. Slain in battle by Ser Arthur Ambrose. It appears the Golden Company has decided to find a place with which to begin their place of operations as well. The Tyrell host was scattered to the winds by the company’s elephants Lord Mooton writes.”

Lord Domeric Bolton speaks then his voice soft. “What would you have of us Your Grace?”

Aegon sighs and runs a hand through his hair before replying. “I know not, my son’s men have either melted away or have joined the Blackfyres Lord Mooton says. He was trying to get Tyrell to muster more men when he sent that letter. Duncan continues to deal with threats in the Riverlands, but how long he can do that before he too comes up against a major opponent I do not know.”

“Perhaps it would be best to ask Prince Duncan to return to capital and then write to Lord Royce and remind him of his duty to the throne?” Lord Maegon says.

Aegon looks at his goodbrother and shakes his head. “No, if I ask Duncan back then the rebels and the Blackfyres will see that as a sign of fear. No matter what happens Duncan must continue leading the fighting in the Riverlands. Lord Bolton I want you to ride out with the remaining men we have from the Crownlords tomorrow and join up with my son at Maidenpool, and tell him that he’s to attack the north’s siege forces at Riverrun.”

Lord Bolton bows, and then leaves. Aegon looks at his goodbrother then and says. “Lord Maegon I want you to take the remainder of the Royal Fleet and join up with Lord Redwyne at the arbor, and I want you two to take the Iron Islands. Take Pyke and we hit the strength of the northern sea power.” His goodbrother nods and then leaves.

That leaves just Dunk in the room with him, and his oldest friend merely looks at him for a long moment before asking. “How did Rhae take it lad?”

“Badly Dunk. Very, very badly. I know she blames me for his death. She has not said as much but I know she blames me, I could see it in her eyes when I gave her the letter. And I cannot say I blame her, if it were not for my foolish insistence that the north learn a lesson and be brought back into the fold this war might not have happened and Aelix would still be alive.”

“You cannot know that Your Grace.” Dunk replies. “Sooner or later war would have broken out in Westeros. As long as the Blackfyres remain alive, Daeron Stark would have tried to seat one of them on the Iron Throne. That the man might be saner than he has been in sometime, but he still would have wanted a black dragon on the throne. There was little to be done about it Your Grace.”

Aegon sighs and runs a hand through his hair once more. “Aye I suppose you’re right Dunk. Still, why is it that the gods always seem to favour the bloody Blackfyres during these wars? Why is that they continue to have such good fortune and we can only find fortune in small measures?”

“Aye they might have fortune in the early stages Your Grace, but they have never won the wars that they have fought. No Blackfyre sits on the throne, and none shall ever sit the throne. That much I can tell you.” His friend replied.

“How do you know that though Dunk?” Aegon questioned. “I do not know whether we shall be able to hold the line down against all of their forces and allies this time round. Winter truly has put a stranglehold on my plans, and with Aelix dead and his men scattered there is not all that much we can do in the Reach.”

His friend was about to reply when there was a knock on the door and in walked Grand Maester Justin clutching a letter. “A raven from Dorne Your Grace.” Aegon’s interest immediately perked up then, they had learnt about the civil war in Dorne sometime ago and though some part of him had wanted to send aid, they could not truly spare more men than they already had.

Aegon took the letter and read and felt his mood sour, and any hope of a lasting peace was squashed. “What does the letter say Your Grace? “ Dunk asked.

Aegon looked at his friend and in a voice choked with fear said. “Dorne has fallen. The Yronwoods have taken Sunspear and Lord Berros has been crowned King of Dorne and has declared it a free and separate state. The Martells have fled from Sunspear and are heading for gods alone know where.”

“And what of Princess Daenaerys?” Dunk asked.

“She was left behind in the Water Gardens, and was used by the Yronwoods as the symbolic acknowledgement of their right to rule. We will need to deal with them soon enough. For now, send word to Ser Everett I want the port made aware of any possible ships that might come in from Dorne soon.” Aegon replied.

Sure enough roughly a month after the letter arrives from Sunspear, the Martells Princess Loreza Martell, and Prince Doran Martell and their cousin Ser Manfrey Martell arrive in King’s Landing, dishevelled and beaten but not broken. Princess Loreza thanks Aegon for his help in sheltering them from the cold and the winter, and Aegon in returns promises the princess that he will do all he can to ensure that she and her son get what is rightfully back from the traitorous Yronwoods. Alongside the Martells they bring with them Edric Dayne the boy lord of Starfall, who is clutching Dawn when presented to the king and court. King Aegon decrees that after a suitable period of mourning the Martells shall be given Summerhall and shall be named overlords of the Marches.


	48. Running With The Reaper

**Prince Duncan the Small**

The war was going from bad to worse. Duncan knew this and each and every day he cursed his father for his damnable ambition and pure stupidity. Duncan could not understand why his father could not have simply let things be and wait for Daeron Stark to make a blunder, surely it would have happened sooner rather than later and then they would have been able to fight on their own terms. But because King Aegon had not waited they were fighting with one eye constantly on their backs in case one of their allies turned traitor and stabbed them in the back. He knew what had happened to his grandfather and the trust that had been misplaced and he had no desire to end up the same way his grandfather had, cold, alone and dying. At nights he dreamed of Jenny and their child she was carrying, soon enough he would be a father.  He wanted to be there to see his son or daughter be born and he desperately wished for this war to end.

The way things were going though it did not seem as if the war would end anytime soon. They had been fighting for a year and a half now, and still the Blackfyre cause seemed to grow stronger and strong, not weaker. After Moat Cailin and White Harbour something seemed to have inspired the northmen and they fought like men possessed, Riverrun was under siege and had been for the past three moons, a host sent by Lord Whent to harass the northmen had been destroyed on the banks of the blue fork, the site where Lord Tytos Lannister had been sent running back south. In the south things had gotten much worse for the Targaryen cause. Dorne had fallen to the Yronwoods who had declared themselves the kings of Dorne, the Martells had been driven out of the kingdom they had held since Nymeria’s invasion and now they were in King’s Landing as exiles. Meanwhile the Vale continued its stubborn neutrality, Duncan could not blame them, after all with Jon Arryn in a cell somewhere in the north and Duncan’s father not doing anything to actively free him, the Vale lords did not want their lord to be sentenced to death.

There was other news as well, news Duncan had tried his hardest not to think about ever since Lord Bolton had arrived at Maidenpool and told them all about it. There had been a battle in the Reach on the banks of some river or the other, the Golden Company had finally landed as well it seemed in time for this battle, and the forces of Lord Tyrell and Duncan’s youngest brother Aelix had been trapped by the rebel reacherlords on one side and the golden company on the other. Aelix had gone for the mad dash to try and play hero, Bolton had said that his brother had fought admirably and bravely, cutting down men twice as old and experienced as him with a rampant further. Only to come into the path of one Ser Arthur Ambrose the leading rebel knight of the Reacherlords, there had been a fierce battle that much Duncan knew but at the end of it Aelix was another corpse blocking the river, dead slaughtered his body defiled and missing. Lord Mooton had written all of this to Duncan’s father, saying that he was trying to rally the remenants of Tyrell and Aelix’s hosts and bring them to chase the Golden Company who had headed west.

Duncan knew he should have felt something more, some sort of anger or grief, his brother was dead slaughtered in battle, but by a man who had grown up alongside him at court. Arthur Ambrose had been knighted by Dunk, had broken bread and wine with Aelix and Duncan on numerous occasions, they had thought him a friend, but he had been swayed by the Blackfyres and their lies. Duncan wanted the man dead alright, and he wanted to be the man who killed him, he wanted to look into Ambrose’s eyes as the light faded from them and know that his brother had been avenged. But he could do nothing now, not when Riverrun was still under siege and there were more battles to be fought. He had asked simply what had happened to Aelix’s wife, his widow now and Bolton said she had joined the Silent Sisters when news of his brother’s death had become public knowledge. Duncan also heard talk of how his father meant to give Summerhall to the Martells and something inside of him bristled at the mere thought of that, that was Aelix’s seat, it should become Jaehaerys seat now not the Dornish, those fools who could not ever hold onto their own seat of power.

He shook his head and read the reports that their scouts had given him. It appeared as if Lord Tytos Lannister was moving his host from Casterly Rock to Deep Den, perhaps the lion thought to take Daemon Stark from the rear, a ploy that would not work, Stark was far too cautious, he had good advisors around him men who were not afraid to shoot down his suggestions. Lannister was a craven, likely this suggestion had been Lord Tarbeck’s, Duncan had moved his own men from Maidenpool to Harrenhal some three moons ago, and now they had spent time waiting and watching, listening to the sounds of the Riverlands. Lord Bolton’s host had joined them some two weeks ago, an extra 1,000 men green as grass in some respects but with a capable commander in Domeric Bolton, there were things that needed to be done and accepted in war and this was one of them. He sighed, war, gods damn war, if only the Blackfyres were all dead then none of this would be happening now and perhaps, the north would have slumbered on for a long period of time. There was nothing in the north that could be of value to the Iron Throne, Duncan supposed that it was just a matter of pride for his father, pride that was seeing innocent men and women and children die from the war and from winter.

He sighed once more and then said to Prince Lewyn who was stood behind him. “Send them in.” The door opened and in walked the members of his war council, old and cunning Lord Domeric Bolton, craggy old Lord Darklyn, strong and stubborn Lord Hayford, bold Lord Whent and finally Lord Edric Baratheon and his right hand man Lord Bryce Swann. “My lords,” Duncan began. “I would hear what news we have from the front.”

Lord Bolton as always spoke first, his voice soft. “Our scouts report the same thing every day my prince. Lord Stark keeps his men stationed around Riverrun, preventing ravens and supplies from reaching the castle. His men surround the castle in a ring formation not allowing anything or anyone in or out. The last person from Riverrun who tried to escape was captured and hanged, and quartered.”

Lord Whent spoke then. “Aye, this is true. Stark keeps everything ringed in and the Tullys will run out of food and other supplies eventually. Should Riverrun fall once more, I can tell you most of the riverlords will flock to join Stark.”

“And what of you Lord Whent? What will you do should Riverrun fall once more?” Lord Hayford asked.

Whent bristled at the implied suggestion but thankfully said nothing to harsh. His voice was even when he replied. “I will remain loyal to the bitter end my lord. Everything I have, I owe to his grace, I will not throw that back in his face with betrayal.”

 _Unless Stark offers you the hand of Lucerys Blackfyre for one of your daughters._ Duncan thought, aloud he merely said. “That is all well and good, but Lord Whent you say that the riverlords will flock to Stark should Riverrun fall. Why would they not flock to Blackfyre, after all this war is being fought by the northmen in Blackfyre’s name not Stark’s.”

Whent was silent for a moment and then said. “Blackfyre is merely a figurehead my prince. Daemon Stark is the one actually calling the shots for the northmen. He is the one leading the siege, and should Riverrun surrender, it will be because of Stark that it has fallen not because of Blackfyre. The man is his grandfather’s grandson more so than Aegor Stark ever was the man’s son.”

“So you believe we should attack Stark’s siege lines now rather than wait for Riverrun to capitulate under the pressure? You, yourself sent men out to fight Stark and his men and look where that left you. What makes you think this will be any different?”

“Because the host is bigger and this time Stark himself will have to engage in the fighting rather than sending out Lord Umber and his chumps to do the dirty work. He will want to prove himself and that will be his undoing.” Whent replied.

Duncan is silent for a moment as he ponders all that Whent has said, it is true, Stark is a grieving and raging husband and father taking out his grief the only way he knows how, by fighting. He is young, and as such might be prone to rash mistakes just as his grandfather was during the Battle of the Bleeding Water and during the first Blackfyre war. They could take advantage of that. “Very well,” he finally says. “We march tonight and we march quickly.”

The cover of darkness cloaks them well, so that by the time they see Stark’s siege lines, the sun has not yet risen and the moon has not yet disappeared, giving them the cover of the strange light this setting creates, Duncan nods and the first row of men go down into the fray, and then when they hear the crashing of steel on steel Duncan raises his own sword and enters the fray. The fighting is quick and brutal, the northmen are still scrambling for weapons and armour when Duncan and his men descend on them, and so they fall easily enough to his sword swings and the hacking and slashing leads to much blood being spurted onto his armour and his sword. He rides through the bedraggled northern host cutting and slashing at will, thinking that perhaps victory might just be in sight. He can hear the screams of men dying, and the sounds of steel and blood and death. Death permeates much of what he sees and smells, imprinting itself onto his eyes and his memory like a lusty wench that does not wish to leave.

The sun has risen and there are plenty of bodies filling the ground when he comes across Stark. The man fights with two grey cloaks protecting him as Prince Lewyn and Ser Steffon protect him, Duncan spurs his horse on and then swings through the men blocking his path further bloodying his sword. Then he swings at Stark and the man brings his sword up to block the swing, and they engage in a duel for teh ages. Swinging, blocking, swinging, cutting, blocking. Duncan lands some choice blows on the man, denting his armour and drawing blood, Stark pays him back in kind, denting his helm so badly that when he withdraws for one time he has to throw the helm off to get a better view of his opponent. Stark does the same and then the fighting continues. Both men are exhausted but still they push on, fighting and fighting, drawing more and more from each other.

Before they pull away one last time, Ice and Dark Sister are locked in yet another embrace and Duncan hears over the pounding of his heart in his ears and the sound of men dying, Stark snarling at him, the words become clearer the closer he gets to falling. “A day, a week, a year, or a decade! I don't care how long it takes, but my brother and I will see that you pay a hundred fold for what your family have cost us! I will bring down such a ruin on your House that no one will doubt it was the gods themselves that punished you!" They break apart then and Duncan feels sucked dry, the world goes black, but then he pulls through and swings and then yells for his men to retreat they cannot take anymore, they’ll lose before the northmen do.

The battle of Riverrun which happened on the seventh day of the ninth month of the 250th year after Aegon’s Landing, tipped and turned throughout the course of the day, but eventually ended in a draw, when Prince Duncan strategically ordered his men to retreat back to King’s Landing and was surprised when Daemon Stark did not order his men to chase after them. There were several casualties of note during the fighting, on the Targaryen side, Lord Domeric Bolton at the age of sixty and five died, as did Lord Hayford and Lord Whent. On the Northern side, Lord Beron Umber was slain as was Lord Mors Glover and Asphell Wull of the Winter’s Guard. More death would follow.

* * *

 

**Ser Haegon Blackfyre**

There were days where he could barely remember what his father looked like, he had always been told he looked like his sire, but Daemon Blackfyre had become a name, a name and a memory so faded that it did not seem proper to call the man his sire. Aegor Rivers was his true father, the one who had raised him and cared for him through all the hardships their family had endures. It was Aegor who had given him his first sword, and his first woman and all the other things that father’s were supposed to be there. He could not even remember what his brothers Aegon and Aemon looked like, he had not been there when Aegon had died stuck in the Reach before fleeing, and he had not been there when Aemon had died, stuck in the disputed lands when it had happened. His other older brother Daemon he had known more, he had liked Daemon the bookworm that he was, but his brother had left and was now somewhere, he knew not where.

His mother had died when he was thirty from a broken heart his sisters said, from grief his brothers said, from weakness Aegor said. Haegon believed Aegor, his mother had been a shadow of herself during their exile, never doing anything but praying to gods who never answered her. What good were gods when they showed no proof of their existence? The seven had earnt his contempt the day they let his nephew Aegon be struck by some bloody peasant arrow and lose a chance for the throne. They had lost his devotion when they let his wife die giving birth to a stillborn son, they lost his thoughts when they let Maegon die from the fever, the brother he had been closest to. The red god seemed more real, at least he had seen the god’s supposed powers in action, but the red god was too extreme for him, he was not a godly man, he cared not for religion, not truly, the only gods he needed were war and duty.

Aegor had died and his sons had died with him, true there was Daemon Bittersteel but the boy was a weakling with no appetite for war and so Haegon had taken command of the company. They had built up their strength and their coffers once more, fighting in the Disputed Lands and fighting for his goodbrother in Volantis and against Yunkai. Haegon knew the Disputed Lands better than any man alive right now, and so achieving victory there had been relatively easy. Still there was fighting and then there was fighting, and so he had fought and fought, fought to keep his family, what was left of it safe and secure in Tyrosh, he had killed the last man who had tried to force them out, killed them and butchered them. Many men had tried to kill him over the years and yet none had succeeded, they were all dead and he was still alive. Some might become cocky because of that, Haegon had been once but then he had seen his loved ones killed because of this, what the falseborn’s line had denied them and now he was left alive, with ghosts and dreams and broken promises.

His mentor’s dying wish had been for him to be wed and so he had wed again some Maegyr or some other bloody Essosi he had wed and he had fucked her until she had given him children. His son Maelys had been born deformed with two heads, the second head the woman had said was another child, his wife had died but he cared not he had a son, a living son to carry on his work should he fall. Maelys was ten now and his squire, and so was being groomed for the leadership once Haegon finally rested though he was determined that this time, his family would succeed where they had once failed over and over again. He had a girl, Visenya he knew, but he paid little attention to her, leaving her in Volantis had been a smart move, girls were nothing but trouble.

The war that was his main concern, it was going well for them. The riverlords who fought for the Falseborn had been defeated and bled dry at Moat Cailin and the north had fought back and won at White Harbour, then Daemon Stark had defeated the Lannister host at the Blue Fork before smashing Lord Tully’s host at the Whispering Wood. Riverrun was no longer under siege but its people were broken and defeated. In the south, Dorne had fallen to the Yronwoods and though they had declared independence Haegon knew that should he ask it of them they would come to their aid, but for now he did not wish to ask it of them. The Reach was theirs effectively, Tyrell was in chains somewhere with the Costaynes pulling the shots, one of the Falseborn’s line was dead, slain by Ser Arthur Ambrose, that was good, Haegon had had the boy’s head tarred and then sent it back to King’s Landing with a message.

Their scouts had reported that the lion had assembled a host and was marching down from the Rock and down towards Deep Den where no one knew what he planned on doing. Haegon intended to take full advantage of the man’s uncertainty and destroy his host and open the Westerlands to plunder. The riches from the west could continue to fuel their campaign till it’s very end, they had a fair share of plunder from the Reach but that was in foodstuffs not the hard gold that would buy more weapons and men and bring more lords to their cause. Haegon had ordered the company and their allies to march from their position in the Reach to the Rose Way where the Reach and the Westerlands were joined by the Gardener Mountains, and as such they had been camped there when Daemon Stark and his northmen as well as Haegon’s great nephew Lucerys had found them. Haegon did not make much of his great nephew, the man was too soft and boastful for his liking thinking he had skills that he clearly did not possess as one round in the sparring yard had proven, still he was their king and Haegon would fight for him till the bitter end.

It would do no good though to ponder on these things, they were in the past there were other more pressing concerns they needed to deal with which was why after bathing Haegon called a war council meeting, and observed those lords who entered the tent. There was Ser Arthur Toyne, Ser Arthur Ambrose, Ser Devon Strickland, Ser Tristan Mudd, Ser Harry Flowers, Ser Osgood Stone, Prince Daemon Stark and King Lucerys Blackfyre. Haegon nodded to them all and then spoke. “We know that Tytos Lannister has a host at Deep Den that sits and does nothing. Shall we march and smash his host or circumvent it and march through to Siverhill and then go about our business from there?”

As expected it was Mudd who spoke first his chins wobbling as he did so. “I say we march straight for Deep Den, smash Lannister’s ragtag host and then march for the Westerlands to plunder and pillage as we see fit.”

Toyne nodded in agreement. “Aye there is no point heading to Siverhill only to have our arses attacked by the lions.”

Haegon’s great nephew spoke then and Haegon could have sighed, until the boy actually spoke some sense it seemed to be good to be true this fool who was his kin could speak sense? “The Westerlands is not King’s Landing. Whilst I appreciate the need to ensure that the Westerlands no longer have an army to call upon, I say we destroy their host and then turn east and march for the capital, with all our strength.”

“And what of the resources we shall need to bring the other lords who hover on the sidelines to our side Your Grace?” Ser Harry Flowers asked. “No I say we do as Toyne and Mudd suggest.”

Stark speaks then, and Haegon hears similarities to the man’s grandfather. “I agree with Prince Lucerys. We can do all the pillaging and raiding we want in the Westerlands, but that will only fill our coffers and give the Targaryens time to rebuild their army and see to it that we are cut off from our allies. Riverrun is desolate now, its men are either with us or they have been killed. The Vale remains in isolation with its lord in chains in White Harbour, and the Reach is effectively neutralized now. Furthermore, Dorne is out of this war for good now. I say we strike for King’s Landing and we strike soon.”

“So you would ignore the threat Lannister’s host poses completely?” Haegon asked of the lad.

The stark lad shook his head and said. “I would destroy the Lannister host at Deep Den and then I would march on King’s Landing. But I would not march to Deep Den; no I would lead them here and have them fight us on our own terms.”

“And how would you suggest we do that? Lannister might have little experience but men like Crakehall and Lefford have bucket loads.” Toyne questioned.

At that Stark smiled and said softly. “With decoys of course. Lannister will lead the army and his men will follow him wherever he says they are to go. I have a man under my command that would be more than happy to get back at the Lannisters. And he will be more than willing to do whatever we ask of him.”

And so it was that the plans were put into place and Lord Borros Reyne, a former bastard was sent out with outriders to tempt the Lannister lord out of his cave and into the destruction that would await him. Haegon was saddled and armoured waiting for the signal, when he saw his son Maelys fidgeting on his horse. Haegon turned toward him and said sternly. “Enough lad, you will scare your horse if you do that in battle. You survived in the Reach, do not get yourself killed now. No more moving, be patient and you shall get what you wish.”

“Yes father.” The boy said solemnly. Maelys had the potential to be a great leader and warrior if he had more patience. The sounding of the horn drew Haegon back away from his thoughts, he looked at Maelys and nodded and when the banners of the company and his house were raised his drew his greatsword and yelled for the battle to begin.

It was clear that Reyne had led the Lannister host on a wild goose chase and as such his men were tired and knew they had been led to a trap. Haegon yelled at them and cut them down as they came, swinging his sword like a man possessed, he swung and swung and swung and swung. His sword was red, the bodies littered the ground and still he fought. On and on he fought, cutting, slashing, hacking and cutting, he hacked his way through swordsmen with inferior skills and cut them down like nothing more than meat.  The fighting went on, hacking and slashing he bathed the ground in blood the sounds of battle were in the distance. He swung and swung and swung and swung, bodies falling at his feet and still he fought.

He cleaved a man in half, and then killed his squire, killed more and more, the death toll rose and rose and rose. He swung an swung, and felt no tiredness in his joints, he did not feel the pain from the wounds he quite clearly had, a madness had taken hold of him and still he fought, on and on he fought. The Lannister host was breaking, their leader was gone somewhere, fled most likely but still they fought on like the stubborn dogs that they were, Haegon continued killing more and more of their men until there was no one left to kill/. The battle of the Gardener Mountains ended in victory. 


	49. All My Life

**Prince Daemon Stark**

The southerners thought that this was cold, pah, this was not cold this was nothing more than a slight child. Cold had been Moat Cailin following the massacre that had happened, cold was seeing his wife and daughter’s bodies buried in the snow. That was cold, not this slight breeze that nipped and bit, but then again what would these southerners know of cold, men like Arthur Toyne, Harry Flowers and Lord Desmond Charlton had been born and raised in the south, they had never known cold, had never seen snow until quite recently. Daemon pitied them their ignorance, and at the same time envied them it. The north that was where he belonged, not in the blasted south where the people were strange as were their customs and other such attitudes. Still he had been sent south and so he would not leave for home until his goal had been achieved.

They were close to achieving that goal as well, the southerners had been defeated at Moat Cailin, White Harbour, the Blue Fork and at Riverrun, Lord Lannister was rotting in a cell and his host had been destroyed. Victory after victory and yet Daemon and his men were weary, they knew this pattern too well from the times when Daemon’s grandfather had led them. Victory had followed victory until one deciding battle and then it had all gone up in smoke. The southerners might be jumping for joy at the thought that they were so close to King’s Landing but Daemon was cautious, he sent scouts out and kept guards on Lucerys Blackfyre, much as he might despise the brat, truly he did not want the idiot to die, he did not want all those northern lives to have been shed for nothing. Blackfyre would sit the throne and then Daemon would get justice for Samaira and Jorelle and then he would go home and his grandfather could die in peace.

There had been good news from the south as well, Daemon’s brother Gyles had single handily brought Dorne to the side of the Yronwoods. Driving the Martells away from their homes in the process and getting their family onto the sun throne, the throne where the Martells had ruled Dorne from since the time of Nymeria’s invasion. Daemon was very proud of his brother, and he knew that this would be what his brother was remembered for bringing Dorne back to its rightful rulers, and he knew that his brother would be happy. When they had been children growing up in White Harbour, all Gyles would dream about was using his skills with the sword or spear to bring Dorne back to the family of their grandmother and he had done so, and Daemon was most certainly proud of his little brother.

Daemon knew that the Blackfyres were not too happy that Dorne was now a completely separate kingdom, which he found quite amusing considering that one of the original points of the Blackfyre war in the beginning was to remove Dornish influence from court, something Daemon had always taken to mean that they wanted Dorne to no longer be part of Westeros. Lucerys had said what Gyles had done would be rewarded when he came into his throne, but Daemon knew that the Blackfyre would want to speak with his brother and with Lord Yronwood when the time came, and that was something Daemon was dreading, for more likely than not their fool of a grandfather would side with Lucerys over his own flesh and blood, for no matter how much he might be a changed man he was still blind in some respects when it came to Lucerys.

That was why Daemon controlled and commanded all of the north’s military operations during this campaign, it was he who sat and planned their battle formations with his lords, Lucerys would sit in on the war councils merely as a figurehead someone that the southerners could rally to so that it did not seem as if he was a mere puppet. The man still came up with some very strange suggestions for battle plans, though Daemon did have to admit that his suggestion for attacking the Lannisters had paid dividends, they now had one less host to worry about as they marched for King’s Landing.

Just thinking about it, the chance to take King’s Landing and put an end to this madness once and for all was something that had kept Daemon up for many a night since the battle with the Lannister host. He felt at turns nervous and impatient. He wanted to get the battle over and done with, seat Lucerys Blackfyre on the throne and then head home where he could go and mourn his wife and daughter in peace, and on other turns he was nervous that he would mess something up or that something would go awry and that this would be yet another failed Blackfyre campaign, and that the north this time would not stand for it.  Though it had been Aegon Targaryen who had initiated this war and had lost much as a result of it, the north remembers and there were lords of the north who still grumbled about having to march in the south after slaughtering the offending southerners at Moat Cailin. He knew men such as Lord Cerwyn would much rather have returned home after Moat Cailin, but still Daemon knew his duty and he would do it even if it killed him. Perhaps if it did, he might meet his wife and daughter once more, and his grandfather could do whatever the hell he wanted to do.

He shook his head and tried to clear his head of such thoughts. What was it his grandmother Dacey had always said? A cluttered mind leads to bad decisions and even worse moves, he was the crown prince of the north and iron islands he could not afford to make any rash decisions not now, nor could he afford his own personal thoughts to get in the way of his objective, seat Blackfyre on the throne and end the Targaryens and his grandfather would rest easy and then they would never need to head south ever again. That was the thought that allowed him to sleep at night when all else failed, and this time he used it to smooth over his nerves as he waited for his lords to enter the council tent.

The flap opened and in they walked. Lords Glover, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Dustin, Ryswell, Umber, Royce and Stark. The northern lords who had stood by his family for years, through thick and thin, he hoped he could pay them back. They were joined by Haegon and Lucerys Blackfyre, Ser Arthur Toyne, Ser Harry Flowers and Ser Matthew Rivers as well as Edrick Snow the acting commander of the Winter’s Guard following Asphell’s death against the Lannisters. Once all were seated Daemon spoke. “My lords, my king you know why we are here. We are two days ride away from King’s Landing. Victory is within our grasp. We cannot afford to mess this up now. I would hear your ideas on how to take the city and how to do it effectively.”

Ser Arthur speaks first. “Well we know that Duncan the Small has his host guarding the gate of the gods and the dragon gate. Spread out over that distance some 5,000 men that is what he has left. Of the Vale and the Stormlands we know not.”

Flowers spoke next. “Your scouts are lazy as ever Toyne,” the man bristled at that. “the force of Duncan The Small is spread out over the distance between the gate of the gods and the dragon gate, but Edric Baratheon’s host numbering some 5,000 as well is contained within the lion gate and the storm gate. They will be the ones we face first if we assault the city head on.”

“And don’t forget that they shall have archers and no doubt fire waiting for us should we attack head on. We should tread carefully now my lords. One wrong move and all of our hard work shall be for nothing.” Cautioned Matthew Rivers.

“What Rivers says is true,” Haegon Blackfyre said gruffly. “My spies within the city report that the place is preparing for a siege, they will expect us to spread ourselves thin to play into their hands and go for what they believe we will do. We cannot break off our forces to individually deal with the forces within the different gates. We stick together and we will break the walls and the men.”

“What do we suggest we do Ser?” Lucerys Blackfyre asked his great uncle.

“We send men out to find out what the Valemen are doing, and we march from here to King’s Landing under the cover of darkness and we attack. We push the Targaryens for everything they have and if we break their host then we have the city. The gold cloaks will not put up a fight against us.” Haegon Blackfyre replied.

Daemon is about to ask how the man knows this for a certainty when a man dressed in black enters the tent and hands Haegon Blackfyre a missive. The man reads it and then laughs out loud. When Daemon shoots him an inquisitive look he merely says. “My theory has been proven correct. The city will open its gates to us if we can smash Duncan the Small’s host.”

“What information do you have that will prove this ser?” Daemon asks inquisitively.

Haegon Blackfyre smiles and then reads aloud. “There was a sea battle between the Iron Fleet and the remains of the Redwyne and Royal Fleets. The fighting was bitter and brutal but at the end of it all, the iron fleet emerged victorious the remenants of the two enemy fleets were sunk and destroyed. Maegon Velaryon and Lord Redwyne are dead. King’s Landing has no space for extra men now to come to its aid. Unless the Vale stirs itself.”

“Then we must make sure they do not. We must remind them what will happen to their liege lord if they as much as move past the bloody gate.” Lucerys Blackfyre said.

Daemon nods and says. “Aye, I will send some of our fastest riders out to see what is happening in the east. We should head for King’s Landing this night then, if we are to maintain the element of surprise.”

The lords and other men gathered in the war council nod and agree and plans are made, and soon enough as the sun begins to set they set off, 9,000 northmen, 6,000 men from the Golden Company and 4,000 rebel lords from the Reach and the Riverlands. Daemon sends his direwolf Mars out to scout ahead in the darkness and they arrive at the Old Gate just as the moon and the sun are about equal, the battering rams are put into good use, and the gates are about broken when the first sign of combat begins. Howling and barking and roaring the battle for King’s Landing commences. Daemon fights for his life, hacking and slashing his way through the men who come in his way, cutting them down like they are nothing more than sacks of meat. Mars tearing men limb by limb. Their screams sound like music to his ears, vengeance for Samaira and Jorelle, he keeps fighting through the pain of wounds and through the tiredness.

“Old Gate is ours!”Someone yells, Daemon pushes on smashing his way through the soldiers, are they crownlands or gold cloaks he knows not but he fights on, and Mars by his side a black shadow in the morning light, the grey cloaks of the winter’s guard following as well. Men go down screaming, Ice sings with their blood, each new kill is one that it seems to celebrate, the hunger is on him and he fights on through the pain and the tiredness on and on he fights.

The fighting continues, through and through, the push continues, their gaining ground, the old gate is theirs, they’re pushing up through streets now hand to hand combat reigning supreme here,. Daemon cuts down another man and then another, and then another. They’re pushing closer and closer. Then he feels a sharp pain and then sees red, some bastard’s cut him with a spear, the man soon falls to Mars’ teeth and claws, the battle rages on though he feels woozy and drowsy. “My Prince, we must take you away from here and to safety.” Snow says.

Daemon grunts but finds him being led away from the city, to safety though his men continue fighting led on by the giant Lord Jonnel Umber they keep fighting. There is blood and carnage and all around him he sees red, he sees dragons fight dragons, and he thinks he’s going mad; the blood is doing him in. “Take the king back to the tent!” Snow barks. Someone else shouts back. “We can’t commander. There are more men attacking us we’re being outnumbered.”

“Who?” Daemon manages to bark through the shade of pain and red.

“Valemen,” the man replies. “they killed the scouts and are wreaking havoc amongst the company and the rebels my prince.”

“How many?” he asks this time slumping in his horse.

“7,000 maybe less my prince.” The man replies.

Daemon feels truly unsteady now. “We must warn Haegon and Lucerys they cannot be killed not now.”

The man whispers something to Edrick and then he whispers to Daemon. “Haegon Blackfyre is already dead my prince. Slain by Lord Royce. Lucerys is lost to the cause now.”

“Find him then.” Daemon snarls. “Find him alive or dead.”

Lucerys Blackfyre is found, dead, his head caved in, his armour dented, blood pouring from several different places. The fifth Blackfyre war ends in defeat once more, and the north retreats beaten and bruised. The New Year is celebrated by some and mourned by others.

 

* * *

**King Aegon V Targaryen**

The war had ended, the war he had started with his foolish pride and ambitions. It had ended after two years of destruction and chaos, Westeros had bled and the Blackfyres had died out in one line, but still remained in another. Aegon was still haunted by the various demons that had become his companions during the war, the guilt and the grief over the war and the deaths of so many people weighed heavily on him each and every day. That the Targaryens still ruled from King’s Landing was a fact he owed to the Valemen and their timely arrival, without them it was likely that the city would have fallen and that they would all have been slaughtered.

There had been much to do following the ending of the war, King’s Landing was repaired following the destruction that the northmen and the rebels had inflicted upon it. A lot of gold was spent, and much of the gold in the treasury was used for that purpose rebuilding walls and buildings that had fallen during the battle and adding more defensive fortifications should such an attack ever happen in the future. The destruction of the royal fleet and the death of Aegon’s goodbrother Lord Maegon Velaryon meant that more gold was needed to spend on rebuilding the royal feet, that was where the rest of the coin in the royal treasury was spent, meaning that nay future purchases or constructions that the crown would need to do would require money from the iron bank of bravos or from the Tyrells something that Aegon did not wish to think about nor did he truly like it. But that was what his foolishness had cost him.

His council had also experienced a reshuffle as well some of the most valued members such Lord Bolton and Lord Velaryon had died in battle, and others such as Lord Celtigar had died from the winter. Aegon named his son and heir Duncan the small as hand, and named Lord Boremund Hightower as master of ships, a position that truly needed a proper naval expert to man it. Master of Whispers was given to Ser Dontos Waters, a bastard from King’s Landing, whose parentage Aegon was suspicious about but he did not truly wish to delve deeper into the matter, the man was good at collecting secrets and that was all that mattered. The Kingsguard had also suffered greatly during this war, Ser Steffon Storm, Ser Damon Bolton and Ser Lyonel Royce had all died in the line of duty, they were replaced by Ser Gwayne Gaunt, Ser Andros Celtigar and Ser Desmond Darklyn. They joined a stellar line up of Kingsguard that included Aegon’s oldest friend Ser Duncan the Tall, Ser Gerold Hightower known as the white bull for his strength, Prince Lewyn Martell and Ser Jonothor Darry.

The process of healing the kingdom took a lot of time and energy, winter had exacted its toll on the population of Westeros and war had taken more from them. Aegon strove hard to ensure that the people and the economy could prosper and thrive once more, and did all he could to ensure that trade with the Free Cities continue. Thankfully the Targaryens still had allies in Bravos and Pentos and trade continued, slowly but surely bringing gold and more money into the royal coffers and encouraging the other lords to begin trading as well. Dorne though, Dorne was boycotted, the place was in contention and as such Aegon did not think it right that the kingdom trade with Dorne when the place was under the wrong rulership.

The Martells proved to be easier to manage compared to how Aegon had first feared they would be. Loreza Martell took an active role in trying to make sure her and her son’s lot in life was made easier. She worked hard to ensure that there was money coming in and Aegon invited them both to court in order to make sure that they had friends and allies in court and amongst the influential nobility when the time came for them to take back Dorne. Eventually when Doran Martell’s seventh birthday came Aegon took the lad on as a page, and began observing how Loreza Martell acted around various people. She also thankfully began entertaining suitors, such as Ser Derryck Caron the regent of Nightsong, as well as Ser Desmond Bolton brother to the current Bolton lord. Aegon was impressed by how Loreza Martell assessed each man who thought to court her and saw how she played them off against one another, and was happy when she eventually chose to wed Ser Derryck Caron, it would make things easier he supposed for when they reclaimed Dorn from the traitorous Yronwoods.

Peace had also been secured with the north, though neither of the two aggressors had sent representatives to either King’s Landing or Winterfell instead they had communicated by raven, and a neutral agreement had been reached, and so prisoners had been exchanged. Jon Arryn was back in the Vale shaky, but ruling well, and Tytos Lannister remained the cowed lion he had always been. Aegon could hear the laughter at his folly, but he also heard the snide comments made about the Blackfyres and the Starks and how their cause was doomed for good now, if they could not even win from the position they had been in how would they ever seat a Black dragon on the throne.

Still none of these things would bring back his son, Aelix had been slain in the fighting trying to do something that even experienced men would not dare do, fight against Arthur Ambrose single handily, and he had paid the price for it. Perhaps his son thought he needed to prove himself to Aegon to earn some recognition if he had then he had done it wrongly, but Aegon could not find it within himself to cast blame on his son, it was he who was at fault for it all, the war, the death and destruction. His wife hated him and his children looked at him differently, war it was always the way with war. Never again, never again.

“Ser Dontos is here to see you Your Grace.” Ser Duncan said taking Aegon from his dark musings.

Aegon looked up and blinked rapidly before saying. “Show him in then Dunk.”

Ser Dontos Waters had silvery blond hair, and eyes that looked purple in a certain light, he was smart as a razor as well, cunning by half. A good spymaster but not a man one would want around otherwise. “Your Grace,” the man said bowing. “I have the information you wished for me to get.”

Aegon straightens and arches his fingers. “Well, get on with it then ser.” He says.

Waters swallows and then says. “Volantis now houses the Golden Company. It appears the Archon of Tyrosh has grown tired of housing the black dragon without seeing any reward on his help. Aerion Targaryen houses them and trains with them and my sources say that he plans on aiding them in a fight in the Disputed Lands.”

“Aerion has been a traitor to his family for a long time now, this is not news Waters. What more do you have for me about the Blackfyres?” Aegon asked impatiently.

Waters swallows nervously then and says. “There is more Your Grace. Word from the north, says that the last living Blackfyre descendant of Aemon Blackfyre Lucerys sister Rhaena was found dead in her bed some two moons ago.”

“So the black dragon has one less family member. Do we know who did it?” Aegon asks.

“Yes Your Grace.” Waters says pausing before Aegon nods for him to continue. “My brother Your Grace. He has been working in Winterfell for some time, he attached himself to Daemon Stark’s retinue of friends working as a servant and now works in Winterfell.”

“That is good,” Aegon replies. “Now what of Stark has he wed anyone yet?”

“Ah that is where things get interesting Your Grace.” Waters says. “It appears Daeron Stark is no longer the cold hearted bastard that we all once thought him to be. He has legitimised Gyles Snow and has also told his grandson Daemon that he has a certain amount of time to mourn his wife and daughter and chose his own wife, if he does not do so by a certain period then Daemon Stark shall wed Maelys’ the Monstrous’ sister Visenya Blackfyre.”

“That is certainly an interesting development indeed.” Aegon muses aloud. “Are there any lords in the north who might be inclined to see their daughter wed to the Prince of the north?”

“Oh plenty Your Grace. But they all loath the south now after the last war. And as such it might take their own sort of intuition to try and work their way into Prince Daemon’s good graces.” Waters replied.

“Very well.” Aegon replied. “See to it that something happens along those lines if not, we might need to have Daemon Stark killed and see who will take the fall for that.”

“Yes Your Grace.” Ser Dontos replied.

“Leave me now, there are other things I must think on before the next move is made.” Aegon said. Dontos left and soon enough Aegon was left to brood, it was only after he had had another drink of wine that he realised two years had passed since the end of the fifth Blackfyre War.


	50. A Spring Serenade

**Aerion Targaryen, King of Volantis**

Winter had finally ended and with it spring had come and the snows had melted, it had been quite cold for some time, so much so that Aerion had almost forgotten what warmth actually was, and then spring had actually come and the heat with it. Volantis due to its location next to the sea was quite warm naturally, even during the winter it had not been as cold as reports said Westeros had been during the winter, yet this time the heat that came with spring was nearly unbelievable. Aerion had lost count of the amount of times he ahd been in court and had had to change his clothes afterwards simply because he was drenched in sweat, it was not just him either, half the court seemed to be sweltering in the heat of spring and the other half was dead. Dead from heatstroke the healers said, unused to the sudden warmth after the desperate cold of winter.

There had been war in the west, Westeros once more engulfed in conflict between the black and red dragon, Aerion no longer cared about Westeros, since he had been passed over for the succession he had stopped paying much attention to the news that came from the place. Other than when the information pertained to his brother’s family. That was how he had known about his nephews Duncan, Jaehaerys and Aelix’s marriages for love, marriages that had alienated most of the lords in Westeros if what the sailors at his docks had said was true, Aerion was not surprised Aegon had always been a bit of a romantic fool even as a child, despite whatever else he might have been that was always something that Aerion had both admired and despised in his little brother and now it seemed that it would cost him dearly.

It seemed his brother’s pride had gotten the better of him as well, once more the kingdoms had gone to war and this time because of something that Aegon had ordered, an assassination on the royal family of the north, it had succeeded where the attempt on Aerion’s own family’s life had failed, Aerion had his sister to thank for that. The war that followed had been bloody, Aerion knew from the reports he received from his sources, the golden company had delayed sailing forth from Tyrosh but Aerion had sent a force led by his son Aenar albeit reluctantly to cause some form of chaos in Westeros. He regretted doing that now, it had been for nothing just as all the previous Blackfyre wars had been. Lucerys Blackfyre and Haegon Blackfyre were dead and with them much of the Golden Company’s confidence, but more importantly Aerion’s son had died, slain by his cousin Duncan the small. That was a death that had stung more for Aerion than his own father’s death many years ago.

Aerion’s grandson Gaemon was now his heir, the lad was but five but he seemed as if he would make a smart lad, still there were times when it was hard for Aerion to even so much as look at his grandson without feeling pain and grief over the death of his son. Shiera shared this same problem, she was even more cut up about their son’s death than he was, and that was because she had argued with Aerion about how he owed a duty to Aegor and to her brother to send men, and if he would not go then Aenar should go to give him practice. Their son was dead and Shiera grieved, she spent time with their other children but she could not bear to look at Gaemon no more than Aerion could. The golden company was now residing in Volantis, but that was done more out of practice than out of any sense of obligation.

After the war the company had returned to Tyrosh and then had been kicked out of the city by the Archon who was tired of getting no reward for his investment in the Blackfyre cause, and was also facing a looming threat in the upcoming election. That he had won re-election once more simply proved this, and so Aerion had had to agree to play host to the company once more, he did not like having them in his home, time spent away from the company of sellswords even ones as good as the company had made him realise just how barbaric and brutal they could be. They were largely uncouth and dangerous men, all of them especially the new commander Ser Harry Flowers, a big brute of a man with more martial prowess than brains, someone would need to keep an eye on him once Maelys Blackfyre reach his majority, and Aerion had the sneaking suspicion it would be him.

Still at least he no longer felt as insecure in his role as the king of Volantis as he had done some years ago. He had never had the head for politics, in Westeros he had been too mad to understand the more complex games that were played, and afterwards with the company he had been a soldier first and foremost and then a husband and father he had no time and patience for the games played. Now as king he had found himself thrust into that world, and though he had struggled he had come to enjoy the games being played, he knew his allies and he knew his enemies and he dealt good hands to his friends and made his enemies want to change their course. It helped of course that when trouble had come calling in the form of a Dothraki horde outside the gates of Volantis he had feasted the khal, wined and dined him and then when the man still demanded some form of payment, his horde was butchered with arrows and spears and the man was made to watch. After that no trouble came to Volantis, willingly or otherwise.

He knew that there were those who would wish to see him gone and his grandson on the throne, for as in Westeros there were families and men and women who hungered for power, the former triarchy families were amongst them. The Maegyrs had risen high under Aerion, and they continued to prove to be very useful allies, as had the heavily influential Boyar family, there were other families, low down on the chain that also helped keep Volantis safe and then there were the red priests. Those priests continue to be popular but not as popular as they once had been and their influence was diminishing daily, there would be threats from them in the times to come Aerion knew but he would deal with them with alliances and offerings, nothing more and nothing less.

That was why he had called a meeting of his council today, to discuss what other issues might be needed to be dealt with in the near and not so near future. Laman Boyar, the chief constable of the city cleared his throat and spoke aloud. “Word from the docks reports that the sailors of the Moonshadow have been asking around about Maelys Blackfyre, they claim they wish to offer their services to him, but their accents are too foreign for them to hold any true allegiance to us or to the company.”

Daemon Bittersteel the holder of the keys spoke then his voice uncertain. “It is possible that they might be unhappy Westerosi coming to give their swords to the company? After all we know from the talk by the docks that some of the Westerosi are not happy with Aegon Targaryen and the war he brought down on them.”

Boyar spoke then. “That might have been the case had my inspectors not found a note and coin from King’s Landing itself, they have clear instructions Your Grace. They are here to scout out for Aegon Targaryen and to do his dirty work for him.”

Aerion spoke then his voice hard. “Very well detain them and question them and get all the information you can from them. I want no more incidents, and should they prove unwilling to speak, give them to the rack. Now what other issues are there for us to discuss?”

Maron Volpyke the son of an Ironborn captain who had come to Volantis with Aerion spoke then his voice hoarse as it always was. “Tyrosh and Myr are speaking about allying with each other and taking on Lys, and then setting their sights on Volantis. The Dothraki are also marching through the plains and are picking up men and slaves as they do so.”

Aerion’s son Maekar, the captain of the city guard spoke then. “Tyrosh and Myr? They are two unlikely allies, indeed. I presume now that the company is no longer in the city, the Archon of Tyrosh has taken leave of his sense. They cannot hope to afford to pay for any decent sellsword companies to fight against Volantis and Lys at the same time.”

“They do not plan on doing so my prince.” Volpyke said. “They intend on sending a false message to Lys, and having it sent from the Volanteene ambassador, using him to show that it is the official word from the king on the matter. They hope that the Lyseni will be so incensed that they will try and start a war with Volantis about these claims.”

Aerion was silent for a moment and then said. “Call the ambassador back then Maron. I will have another job for him to do. As for the Lyseni, we all know that Volmark is not as great a fool as most take him to be. He will not believe the word of some Lyseni whore, no doubt though the ambassador might be Tyrosh’ already, I never did trust that fellow.”

“What do you wish for us to do then on this matter Your Grace?” Volpyke asked.

“Write to the ambassador and tell him he has duties in Pentos. I shall write to Mopatis, and tell him to expect the ambassador soon enough. And send word to Volmark, last time he was cut off from the loop and the cities bled that cannot happen again. And I want more information about this Dothraki horde that is marching for us. Now what is happening in Slaver’s Bay?” Aerion said.

Boyar spoke then. “The harpy factions are fighting the slavers, and the slaves band together to revolt. Yunkai and Astapor war, and New Ghis and Meeren wait. There are men massing on Old Ghis, trying to rebuild that old empire they claim. And it seems as if Asshai might actually get involved this time.”

“Asshai? What could they gain from this?” Aerion asked.

“Oh much and more Your Grace much and more.” Boyar replied. “They want more power, the rulers of that fire hole know they are losing influence in Volantis and so are looking for places where their influence might run deeper and thicker. The slaver cities are one such place. Already they have a big following with many of the slavers disgusted by the actions of the Harpies, and their followers. Ghis hope to use this and reforge their empire on the back of wings.”

“Wings?” Aerion asks. “What wings?”

“Dragon wings Your Grace. Ghis claim they have found eggs lost during the bleeding years and they plan on having these eggs hatched in the flames of a mighty pyramid, or failing that they plan on going to Valyria and hatching the eggs as the shepherds did in days of old.” Boyar explained.

“Have they lords their minds?” Aerion asked. “No dragons have been alive in the world since the reign of my great, great grandfather. This will bring nothing but chaos and destruction to the world either way. I must speak with Moqorro and find out what madness this is.”

“You might not have that chance not Your Grace,” Volpyke said. “Moqorro left for Asshai this morning, he said that he had business to attend to and he had all the relative permits and such to leave.”

* * *

 

**Rhaena Targaryen**

Winter was over, spring was here, and Rhaena Targaryen knew it would be her last spring, the last time she saw the snows melt and heard the roaring of the city below her. She was ill, well of course she was, she was an old lady now, having seen her one hundred and seventh nameday some two weeks ago, the oldest living person in Westeros she was told, and though there had been some celebrations, an air of mourning had hung over them all, and she was happy that it had not been similar to her other birthdays. She was too old now to worry about all of that anyway, her time in the sun had been good and now she waited for deaths wings to take her back to her family.

There had been war, there was always going to be war so long as the men in her family were to blind to see that they were all actually family and needed to stick together to override those who would threaten the work of those who had come before them. This time though the war had had a very heavy effect on the north, White Harbour and its surrounding areas had been badly damaged by one of her own blood, and that the boy who had led the charge was of the seven had led to a fierce backlash against the Seven in White Harbour. The people of the city had understood why the seven, the gods they had held to for so long would abandon them in such a manner, septs had been burnt and septons and septas killed or exiled from the city, there had been chaos until Daemon Stark the heir of the north had come and put it all to rest.

Still, Lord Torrhen Manderly the new lord of White Harbour was a deeply religious man, but he was one who believed in the old gods though his wife was a follower of the seven and had been part of Rhaena’s convocation when she had come to White Harbour, and as such Rhaena had instructed the girl to do all she could to ensure the faith continued to have some representation in the north. Her nephew would do what he could but he was not as strong as he used to be and his grandson had developed a following, and was doing what he could to rid the north of the seven and the southern influence, Rhaena knew this from the letters she received from those close to her in the north.

War, she could and never would understand why one would wish to fight war, there had been too much war in Westeros, the dream and vision her father and uncle had had when they had asked for the heirs of the lord paramount’s to come foster in King’s Landing when Rhaena had been a girl had been shattered first with Daeron’s invasion of Dorne. That could have been handled much better, but Rhaena now knew that her older brother would never have listened to reason, his head was full of songs and glory just as all of their heads had been. He was dead though, as was Willam, Daena, Elaena, Aegon and Aemon they were all dead their friends as well, only she was left now, the quiet one, the one none had ever looked at, even Baelor the brother she had loved the most had not looked at her and now she was the one left, the pious one, the one none had bothered with. She wished for her family now though, as she had not for many years, a family and children of her own, but she did not have them and she mourned what she had given up.

Daena, her elder sister had been much in her mind as of late, her fierceness and her pride that had made her do what she could to thwart the efforts of their brother Baelor and their uncle Viserys. All of it had been done to get her back together with Willam, her sister had been a very smart girl and would have made a fine queen had Baelor not been so blinded by his devotion, and yet what had made Daena great had also been her undoing, her tryst with Aegon had brought about the wars that were now tearing at the seams of all that their father had worked hard to repair.  Her descendants had paid the price for that wilfulness, Daemon, Aemon, Aegon, the list went on and on, the Blackfyres they called themselves for their pride, and Daena’s pride, all of it had been done for that pride and Daena’s pride had ended in death just as her son’s had. Lucerys Blackfyre was dead and yet another part of her sister faded from the world, Daeron was all that was left of her sister now and he was recovered now but still she feared for what could happen to him and his without her there.

Her nephew had always been a proud man, a dutiful man someone who had had a lot of love and tenderness in him as well. That was what his father had had, he had been the best of both his mother and father, and yet his devotion to Daemon Blackfyre had driven him mad and had resulted in far too many unnecessary  deaths, Elaena had been clever oh so clever when she had done what she had done on her death bed. Their nephew had woken up to what he had become, and had done his best to make up for it, whether he had succeeded only time would tell, but no longer was he the mad man that the north despised and feared, he was loved again, and though his grandson still resented him some, there was no anger and hatred there, not yet. She needed to remind him though lest he forget himself once more. “Daeron,” she whispered and her nephew came closer his grip on her hand tightening as he did so.

“Yes aunty?” her nephew asked.

“Is it night or day?” she asked trying to squint at the blinds from her position on the bed.

Her nephew looked back and then said. “It’s night time aunty. The city sleeps, the manor sleeps.”

“You know that I am proud of you don’t you Daeron? For turning yourself around and remembering what it is to be a Stark and a dragon? You were given the name winter dragon by your mother did you know that, when she saw you, she cried for the first time that I can remember she cried and she loved you and all of her children equally. It’s good to see you remembered that, and what your mother and brother stood for.” Rhaena said, clearing her throat and then continuing. “I know it can be hard sometimes, to accept the hand that the gods have dealt you, with the pain and suffering that this path has given you. But never forget what you are nor who you are. Don’t let the darkness take you again Daeron, because if it does then neither I nor Elaena will be here to save you and I do not think your grandson would stand having you near him.”

Her nephew chuckled slightly though it was tinged with sadness. “I know aunty. I do not plan on letting myself get so absorbed with the Blackfyres that I forget my duty to my people and my family again. I nearly lost everything I held dear doing that and I will not chance losing it again, they are too precious to me to have it happen once more.”

Rhaena swallowed slightly and then said. “That is good, very good. I am happy you know the real world from the shadows now. I have walked down that path many times before and it is not a pleasant one. Never walk down that path again Daeron. And know that I am and always will be proud of you for recovering yourself and remembering what it means to be a Stark. Promise me you will not forget.”

“I promise aunty.” Her nephew says.

Rhaena Targaryen, the second daughter of Aegon III Targaryen, and the last surviving member of her generation dies at the age of 107 on the fourth day of the sixth month of the 254th year after Aegon’s Landing. A generation has ended, and now the past may close and the present may breathe once more.


	51. Where Do We Go From Here?

**Prince Daemon Stark**

The war was four years gone and yet there wounds of it still lingered on in the north. Crops and fields had been bunt by the Targaryens as they had attacked White Harbour, there had been disturbances within the city and the countryside between those who had grown to hate the seven gods of the southerners and those who wished to defend what they saw as the right for religion. Daemon had dealt with those who had caused the trouble in the same fashion he had dealt with trouble makers since the war had ended, discussions were held and a settlement was reached, where there were no settlements the offending parties had two choices repent and lose the offending limbs that had caused chaos, or be sent to the wall. Needless to say the wall received many new recruits since the war had ended.

Daemon had learnt lessons from the war that he might not otherwise have learnt, he knew the importance of having proper lookout towers along the coast and though the neck and Moat Cailin remained nigh impenetrable, White Harbour and the coastlines were not. And so Daemon had decided that towers and patrols would become mandatory any suspicious looking ship or cog would be stopped and searched and if those who searched the ship did not think that the ship or cog was safe for travel, it would be moored in at Pyke or at Cape Kraken. Alternatively they were turned round or their captains were questioned thoroughly. So far that method had been very useful, some bastard from the south had been carrying dangerous cargo onboard his ship, in fact several bastards had been carrying similar dangerous items all of which Daemon had learnt had been meant to cause chaos in the north. Needless to say the captains were no longer alive, their crews dead or at the wall.

Daemon had also seen to the rebuilding of White Harbour and Widow’s Watch and Ramsgate ensuring that there were more formidable defensive outposts in the locales that the southerners had attacked and that the men who manned them were well trained and knew exactly what to look for. Daemon had also made sure that the Stony Shore benefitted from the same defensive fortifications; the money to pay for these repairs and the buildings had come from the royal coffers and had so far been repaid through trade with Dorne and with the free cities such as Pentos, Lorath and Qohor as well as Volantis.

Daemon had also noticed how since the war the Faith of the Seven had lost a lot of its influence and power in the coastal regions of the kingdom. It seemed the people were turning back to the old gods, in search of something that they felt the seven statues could not give them. Even the Manderlys those staunch supporters of the seven had begun questioning their allegiance to the seven. With Rhaena Targaryen dead, the faith of the seven had lost its most prominent supporter in the north and Daemon’s grandfather was no longer as willing to stick up for a religion he did not believe in or care about. This had given Daemon the chance to expel most of the blithering idiots that made up the majority of the faith of the seven’s delegation in the north. The people of the north were more than willing to see these people gone, seeing them as possible spies for the southerners and that idiot Aegon Targaryen, those northerners who had chosen the faith of the seven as their own were allowed to remain but were told any agitation on their part would not be tolerated at all.

When he was not dealing with rebuilding the north or dealing with those southern idiots in the faith of the seven, Daemon spent a bit of time with his family, his sisters and grandmother as well as his cousins. His sisters Rhaenrya and Maege were quite happy, wedded and with children, Rhaenrya’s own son Jeor had fought alongside Daemon in the last war and was a good lad, Maege was wed to Devon Blackwood and had three children by him, both of his sisters were good company and allowed Daemon a way to remove himself from his grief over his wife and daughter and allowed him to remember what it was to smile and laugh. His grandmother Dacey was getting on in years, but she was still a formidable woman, Daemon often went to her to ask for advice when the council presented him with a difficult issue that he was not sure how to deal with effectively. His grandmother had always been a smart lady and his respect for her had only grown since he had become a proper part of the council.

Daemon also spent some time writing to his brother Gyles, his brother who had been legitimised as a Stark by both their grandfather and King Berros Yronwood. His brother held a position of some influence within the new Dornish court, and Daemon was deeply proud of him. There were times when Daemon did miss his brother, it was all well and good speaking with his sisters and grandmother but there was nothing compared to the friendship and comradeship he had had with Gyles, he missed that and he knew his brother missed it as well, but there was nothing they could about it now, they both had a lot to do now.

Daemon was deeply hopeful that he would be able to actually visit the land of his father’s mother’s birth, his father had never been able to visit Dorne, but hopefully this peace would be more lasting and this time Daemon did sniff an opportunity to see his brother and his Dornish family and perhaps learn more about the type of woman his actual grandmother had been and the type of person his grandfather had been before this madness had started. Daemon was not someone given to fancy, but he did believe he was right in hoping that this peace could be lasting, after all his grandfather had actually snapped at one of the councillors Daemon could not remember who it was now, who had suggested that perhaps they should launch another invasion of the south to teach them a proper lesson. Daemon’s grandfather had fumed and said that there would be no more invasions and no more war, and that the next person who suggested it would be hung for the traitor that they were. Daemon had agreed with that sentiment, there was nothing but death and pain for them in the south.

And it seemed his grandfather had finally realised that as well, after Rhaena Targaryen’s death Daemon had seen his grandfather fall into a state of depression. He barely spoke, he barely ate, he barely did anything anymore, except for spend time in the private sept Elaena and Rhaena Targaryen had had in White Harbour and spend some time with Daemon’s cousins and nieces and nephews, all of whom loved the king deeply. Daemon knew his grandfather was ill and would likely not last for much longer and that the only thing keeping here was his promise to that bloody fool Daemon Blackfyre and to Daemon’s own grandmother, but if he was being honest with himself, Daemon would rather his grandfather die than have him continue to mope around looking miserable and sorry for himself.

Still, at least the old man attended council sessions now, even if he did not speak. As he was not doing now, Daemon looked across the room and took in the council members. Lord Commander of the Winter’s Guard, Edrick Snow was sat stern faced and silent, High Admiral of the northern fleet Lord Edrick Cassel was silent and patient, High Steward Edwyle Stark was silent as well, Master of Coin Lord Torrhen Manderly was listening attentively and Grand Maester Aemon spoke passionately. “My lords, my prince we have had word from Lord Donnor Reed. It would appear that the wildlings are growing in number north of the wall and seem to be preparing for an assault.”

“How many men do they have and who are they rallying under?” Daemon asked.

Maester Aemon looked at the letter before him and said. “Lord Reed believes that there will be some 500 of them marching under someone called Thunderfist.”

“Thunderfist? Aye that one will be a tough nut to crack. Likely they will serve as a diverging force for an even larger host of wildings. My brother Ser Mark has heard about this man on his rangings. The man is brutal but not all that clever. The watch should be able to deal with him and his band of wildlings.” Lord Edrick said confidently.

“That is not all Lord Donnor has managed to find out from his time north of the wall my prince” Maester Aemon said. “He has also learnt more about how deeply undermanned the Night’s Watch truly is, their castles are weakly fortified and they are letting stragglers through the wall far too easily. It would not be hard for the wildlings to sneak through unhampered and plan a big attack from there.”

“Well then Maester Aemon, you know what must be done. Thank Lord Donnor for his work and observations and tell him that he is expected back in Winterfell before the moon ends. I want a letter sent to Lord Commander Bracken and tell him that he needs to be on his toes. I want Lord Umber and the mountain clans fully prepared for any possible raiding, and if necessary we shall need to march for war. I do not want these free folk anywhere near Winterfell.” Daemon said.

Lord Edwyle spoke then, most found the man scary and intimidating, Daemon did not, to him the man was simply a good servant and a useful ally. “There has also been word from Volantis my prince. It appears that the rumours we heard about the Ghiscari trying to hatch dragon eggs were not false. Their leaders all died in an attempt just outside Volantis itself. It appears the eggs were undamaged and Aerion Targaryen has seized them for his own. He has also marched off for war to fight the Myrish-Tyroshi alliance and asks if we could spare some help for him and his.”

Daemon was silent for a moment and then said. “Write back to him and tell him that no northern army shall leave northern shores unless they are threatened, and unless he is telling us that Myr and Tyrosh would be so foolish to risk breaking our trading contract we shall not war against our trading partners. I want you put out an missive to the lords though, any of their sons that wish to fight in this damnable war may do so, but they should find their own way to the east. Now Lord Edwyle has there been any word from my uncle Jonnel?”

Jonnel Stark, Daemon’s uncle and the youngest of King Daeron’s children was known as the bloody wolf for the amount of time he had spent in Essos fighting for various sellsword companies, the list included the Second Sons, the Company of the Cat, the Tatters Alliances and the Golden Company, the man was a prestigious fighter and very, very capable commander. It was he who provided most of the information the northern council got from the east. Lord Edwyle looked at his notes and said. “Aye there has been my prince. It appears that Yunkai and Astapor are at war, and have roped the Golden Company into their war, Prince Jonnel fights for the company who fight for Yunkai. He believes that Yunkai shall emerge triumphant simply because the Astapori are seeing riots amongst their fighters, something is giving them cause for trouble, but what it is he is not sure.”

Daemon nods and says. “Very well, write back to him and tell him to keep his ear to the ground and to write back if he learns anything more of import. Now if that is all I would wish to speak with Maester Aemon on my own.” The lords left, though his grandfather remained. Daemon looked at Maester Aemon and then at his grandfather and asked. “Who is on the list of women that I must see today then?”

Maester Aemon glanced down at the paper before him and said. “Ladies from Houses Ryswell, Dustin, Karstark, Dreadstark, Berstark, Umber, Glover and Greyjoy my prince. If I might be so bold I would recommend you spend more time with the Greyjoy and the Dreadstark ladies.”

“And why is that Maester? Do you believe they might cause us trouble in the future should I not court their women properly?” Daemon teased.

His grandfather spoke then his voice sharp. “It is smart to do so because Dreadstark is a hero and his daughter is someone who could strengthen the ties between Winterfell and the Dreadfort, and the Greyjoys are not to be completely trusted making their daughter a queen would prevent any subterfuge on their part.”

Daemon nods and then says. “Very well, let the games begin....again.”

* * *

 

**Lord Gyles Stark**

Summer, it was a strange thought seeing the sun and no snow, the warmth of the sun made everything seem brighter. The people of Dorne had become warmer with the sun and the weather that it brought with it; there was no more doom and gloom from the lords or the smallfolk about the crops failing, or the need for one last harvest. After the uncertainty that had been winter and spring following the rebellion, things were looking up once more for Dorne, and that he had been a part of it made Gyles feel all kinds of proud.

That his uncle had thought to legitimise him and name him Lord Marshal of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear was the icing on the cake. Gyles was honoured by the titles that his uncle had bestowed upon him, they were a clear sign of the regard that his uncle and king held him in, higher regard than anyone bar Daemon had ever held him in before. Being Lord of Sunspear also gave Gyles control over the Dornish fleet, and he had put it to good use, seizing cargo ships that contained many types of foodstuffs and other items that had since been used to fill Dornish coffers and replenish the land and encourages business and trade within the kingdom and with the free cities.

As Lord Marshal of Dorne, it was down to Gyles to spend his time rebuilding Dorne’s defences. He knew from experience that the Prince’s Pass could be a very threatening place and that if used effectively, any invading army could be squashed there and then. As such, he had overseen the rebuilding of Vulture’s Roost, a place that had once been a ruin was now the strong fort it had been in times past, Gyles had named Sevros Sand, a friend from the campaign and a trusted ally as the commander of the Roost. The tower between the Roost and Kingsgrave had been rebuilt as well and would serve as a second command post and watch tower, manned by men from Kingsgrave and the smallfolk from Starfall and High Hermitage who Gyles had trained thoroughly so that there would be no more massacres of defenceless smallfolk in the wars to come.

He had also made sure that there were watch towers along the Dornish sands and that each noble house had men stationed in these towers observing the comings and goings of the people and that if any suspicious activity was seen or thought of, then it was to be reported immediately and then the lord of the tower was to deal with the issue or if it was too serious it was to come to Gyles. As such crime within the kingdom had been deeply reduced as bandits and thief’s lived in fear of meeting Gyles cold steel, for he knew the reputation he had, the sand wolf he was called, a feared warrior and none were foolish enough to challenge him.

Ports had been built on the rivers Vaith and Scourge and Planky Town had been turned into a proper coastal town. Each place had its own reserve war galleys in place and strict instructions with what to do with trade vessels and with suspicious vessels, the Targaryens had made clear what they intended to do with rogue kingdoms, and Gyles would not take any risks not now, not with this that he had worked so hard to ensure. As such nothing serious had happened and no more pirates raided near Planky Town or near the eastern or western coast, the reachmen had remained good to the peace that remained uneasy at best.

The peace within Dorne had itself been secured with marriages. Lord Berros’ son Edgar Yronwood had been wed to Serra Fowler sister of the new Lord of Skyreach, and Gyles himself had been wed to Velaena Toland, a match made to show that the new royal family of Dorne would not be harsh to those who had opposed them. As such the marriage to Velaena had been useful for Gyles in that it had made sure the Tolands and thus many other houses such as the Allyrions were kept in check and it also provided Gyles with a group of warriors he could train and ensure that their loyalty was to their king first and not to their overlord. Something that had proven especially useful in the early days of his uncle’s reign.

His wife was a good lady, kind and gentle, she was smart and good to talk to and though there had been some awkwardness at first, with the birth of their son Daemon, they had grown closer and if there was not love between them then at least they were fond of one another and were friends. Gyles was able to learn more about his people, for that was what they were now. He might be born and raised in the north, but he felt more of a connection with Dorne and its people and customs than he ever had with the north, even if it pained him to admit it. That was why he was unsure about whether he wanted to visit the north again, even if it did become possible he did not want to lose that feeling of acceptance he had from almost everyone here in Dorne, that was lacking in the north, his family had always welcomed him but the others at court had not and he had hated it, he did not want to feel like that again.

Still he knew that if he thought he had it tough sometimes, his brother had it much worse. A widower and a grieving father was Daemon and yet he continued to pursue his work on the council with a relentless dedication and efficiency that would make their grandfather proud. His brother often wrote of the council and the north, and Gyles could not help but feel extremely proud of how much his brother truly had done to help heal the north following the war. Of course he knew his brother would never truly accept praise, unless it was from his wife, and his wife was dead now and so he worked on and on and drove himself to the bone. Much like Gyles did, it seemed to be a family trait.

Shaking his head, Gyles walked toward the council chamber, the King had called the council to meet and discuss various issues of state and as such Gyles nodded to the two knights stationed outside the council chambers, they nodded at him and let him pass. As he entered he saw that the king was already seated, King Berros was much older than he had been some years ago, the grey in his hair was much more pronounced as was the bulge that was his belly, though he was still an intimidating sight. His son and hand Edgar was a big man as well muscled and smart. Spymaster Ser Desmond Blackmont was a sharp man with bucket loads of cunning and street smartness, as was master of the peace Gerold Allyrion. Gyles often felt out of place in the more minute discussions of intrigues and politics. Still he was here and he would see what needed to be said. Once he was seated the king spoke. King Berros’ voice was deep and booming. “My lords I thank you for coming. It has been sometime since we last met, and as such I would hear what has changed in my kingdom since then.”

Blackmont spoke first as was expected in such a situation. “Well, the free cities continue to war with one another. The Myrish-Tyroshi alliance has fallen apart and the Archon of Tyrosh has sent a plea out for what help he can. Volantis fights alongside Yunkai against Astapor and Meeren, and the Golden Company continues to batter through the siege lines of Astapor. The Ghiscari have broken and have faded into the shade. And Lys looks to the Stepstones for wealth and riches.”

“That is all well and good, but do we know if Lys means to attack Dorne itself or if they simply wish for more gains in the Stepstones?” Ser Edgar Yronwood asked.

“They wish to take what they can from the Stepstones no more no less my prince.” Blackmont replied.

“Then they are welcome to it.” The king said. “Let them have it, we want nothing from the Stepstones not now at least. Still Gyles I want you to keep the fleet on alert in case something should go awry with their mission. I want no pirates prowling our waters. Now what of the rest of the world. What do they do?”

Blackmont cleared his throat and then said. “The rulers of Asshai continue to evade any sort of detection as to what they are doing, though the closest of my spies has told me that there has been movement amongst the red priests and that something is most definitely happening in the shadow. What it is they do not know.”

“If I may Your Grace?”asked Maester Derros, the grand maester of Dorne. When the king nodded he spoke once more. “Asshai has always been a strange and fascinating place for many though it holds a sinister reputation. It would not do to draw their attention not with the Targaryens still a threat to our safety.”

All were silent for a moment and then the king nodded and said. “Aye that is true. Now what word from the north. What are the Starks doing?”

“They continue to build up their strength once more, and are currently assessing a threat from north of the wall.” Blackmont replied.

“Trade continues to prosper though Your Grace. With the north and the free cities, the royal coffers continue to grow.” Allyrion said.

The king nodded and said. “That is good, that is very good. All is well in Dorne this I know, but it is those outside of Dorne I am more worried about. Ser Desmond what word do our contacts in King’s Landing have of what the fool Aegon Targaryen is planning.”

Ser Desmond was silent for a moment and then said. “He consorts with his council and with his lords and speaks of what his next move should be. He speaks with the Martells and with the Dayne boy, and he speaks of getting them justice for what happened to them during the war. He speaks and speaks, and yet does nothing. I do not believe we need to fear from him, no it is his son Prince Duncan we must fear. That one is the one who rallies the men to the meetings, and speaks with his father’s voice saying the words the king does not say aloud. Men rally to their banners and prepare for war.”

“Are you certain of this?” Gyles asked. “If we are to prepare for war we must be completely sure that this is not a ruse to make us look bad to the rest of the world. The Targaryens would not be above such things by now.”

Blackmont went to speak but the king interrupted him. “He does not lie Gyles, I know for a fact that the Targaryens are preparing to march against us. I rode to the Pass some days ago and heard reports from Manwoody that he had seen a lot of activity north of the marches and even some near the Roost. They are coming and we had best be ready. Dorne will not fall to the Targaryens, they shall not enslave us again.”

On that day the ravens flew from Yronwood castle to all the lords of Dorne, calling them to war once more. The Targaryens would try to invade, and this time the Dornish would not fall prey to surprise or captivity, the Yronwoods would do what the Martells could not, and keep Dorne free and brave through the dragons wrath, after all they were not the dragons anymore, no more than the Martells were unbent, unbowed and unbroken. A new era had begun and so it would continue.


	52. Troubled Dreams

**Prince Duncan the Small**

Winter was over, summer was here and war had greeted Prince Duncan Targaryen once more like an old friend. This time though he was not leading men against a northern host, or even rebel lords within Westeros it but rather he was leading a host south, to retake Dorne. Had he still been a green boy Duncan had no doubt that his head would have been full of songs and how he would have thought he would imitate his ancestor Daeron the young dragon in taking Dorne for his family. He was not that boy anymore, and his head was not filled with songs, he had seen all too well the grimness of war and the death and destruction that would follow this campaign, and though a part of him still squirmed at the thought of it all the rest of him was used to it now and was resigned to it.

He understood the reason for this war, so long as Dorne remained independent and unfettered they were likely to continue to cause problems for Duncan and his family for years to come, and that was something that could not happen. It could not be allowed to stand, Dorne as an independent kingdom did have the chance of becoming even more powerful than the north was at this moment, most likely because they had contacts in Essos that not even the Targaryens had, and they held the Stepstones for now at least. No, if Duncan wanted his family to grow up in a safe and worry free environment Dorne needed to be brought back into the fold. He knew that had his father been capable of leading the armies, he would have done so but as of late King Aegon had been struck by fever and so Duncan led the armies.

As he wiped his brow, he thought back over the past six years, peace had come to Westeros just as first spring and then summer had. The northerners had withdrawn to their barren wasteland, without the main Blackfyre line there to bolster any further invasion attempts on their part, still Duncan’s father had done all he could to ensure there would be no retribution for the war, and so defensive measure had been put into place, and King Aegon had done his best to appease his lords all of whom were disgruntled. Their hold on the throne was now weaker than ever, this war had shown once more just how tenuous the Targaryens truly were, Duncan knew that, and he knew just was would cause the lords to refuse these thoughts in the future. Trade had resumed and the royal coffers were filling up once more with gold and taxes, and the lords seemed happier than they had done at the end of the war.

That was good Duncan thought wryly, at least one part of the kingdom was happy. The family had been torn asunder following the ending of the war. Aelix had died and his wife had gone to the silent sisters, Summerhall was vacant and though there had been rumours that Summerhall was to be given to the Martells, thankfully his father had shown some sense and had kept it as a summer palace once more. That was where Duncan’s mother Queen Rhae had retreated to following yet another heated argument with the king, Duncan had seen his mother once before he had left for war, she was very pale and frail, a shadow of the woman she had once been, death was calling for her and yet she fought on.

Jaehaerys too looked as if he would soon die, his health had only gotten worse with the sudden changes  in season and he spent a great deal of time either in Dragonsville the seat their father had given him, a manor house more like or in King’s Landing. Jaehaerys son Aerys was serving as Duncan’s squire, the boy was a good lad, if not overtly skilled at arms he was a smart lad and had the potential to be a good prince. Duncan knew that Jaehaerys and their father had been talking about possible matches for Aerys and Rhaella and as such were thinking of binding the two of them together, Duncan thought that a terrible idea, no matter what some prophecy said, they needed to tie together the lords and the throne and they needed Aerys and Rhaella to do that.

Duncan’s own children with Jenny were just about seven and six respectively. A boy and a girl, Aemon and Daenys. Aemon was a fierce boy, strong and wilful, all those who saw him thought he reminded them of Duncan himself as a young lad, and Daenys was just like Jenny, sweet and quite though Duncan already knew she had a fierce wit somewhere there and would be one to reckon with when she became a lady grown.  He missed his children, truly he did, that was the one thing he had realised since becoming a husband and a father, he truly missed his children and regretted not being able to spend more time with them now. He simply hoped that wood’s witch that Jenny had brought with her to court did not gain too much influence, he did not believe in half the things that old crone prattled on about, though Jenny and his father seemed to take stock of what she said.

He shook his head and then looked at the map spread out before him.  The war with Dorne had gotten off to a shaky start; Duncan’s father had sent word to Lord Luthor Tyrell and asked him to call his banners to begin the invasion of Dorne. Tyrell no doubt acting on the advice of that harridan of a wife of his had called his banners and then with a force mounting some 20,000 men had struck out for Dorne. The fool had walked right into a trap and at Vulture’s Roost the Tyrell host under his command was butchered against the walls of the Roost and the spears and arrows of the Dornishmen guarding it. Tyrell led some 2,000 survivors back to Ashford; the rest had been slain or captured. News had reached King’s Landing of the defeat and Duncan’s father had called the banners of the crownlands, summoned the Stormlords and had taken men from the Riverlands. Together they numbered some 25,000 men and under Duncan’s command they had marched from King’s Landing and joined with Lord Tyrell’s remaining host which was supplanted by an extra 20,000 swords led by Lord Tyrek Tarly.

Tarly was much smarter than his oaf of an overlord having fought in two previous wars compared to Tyrell’s one. And so with him Duncan planned their entry into Dorne. This time round they sent a probing force of some 6,000 men led by one Ser Quentyn Tyrell to attack the Roost, and the ploy worked the defenders had grown lax and as such though the men under Tyrell died, so to did the guardians on the Roost. This gave them a window to enter Dorne through the pass, and so they did, from there Duncan split the host up. The left was placed under Tyrell’s command, the right under Duncan’s goodbrother’s command Lord Edric Baratheon, the centre under Lord Tarly’s command and the van Duncan took. The left was sent to subdue the Tower between the Roost and Kingsgrave which they managed to do successfully. The right was sent to join with the left and then take Kingsgrave which happened though with some struggle. Duncan joined the two hosts with his own and the centre and from there they marched to face the host led by Lords Blackmont and Fowler.

They met the Blackmont and Fowler host on the lands that had once belonged to House Dayne. In the battle of Stars they had met in a crash of steel, armour and horse. It had been a bloody affair lasting from morning till the next day fight without end. At the end of it all Duncan had lost 12,000 men the Dornish their entire host some 9,000 men. Clearly they were being bled dry, and though Duncan had gotten Ser Dontos Blackmont the son of a Blackmont and a Fowler and thus heir to both castles to bend the knee there was still some suspicion in his mind that there was something going on here, he had though Gyles Stark would be here but he was not.

The lords with him had been happy, very happy, they had though things were going good and would only get much better from here. They were only summer children though, the true realties of fighting in Dorne became much more apparent soon enough. On the outskirts of Sandstone, in what was now known as the battle of sands, they met a host led by Lords Uller and Allyrion and so the host had fought Duncan’s tired and battered host and the result had been a draw Allyrion was slain though Uller remained and had retreated into the mountains. Lord Tyrell had begged for the honour to chase after him and Duncan in his tiredness had agreed to go through with it. They had heard nothing from Tyrell since then, and it had been three moons.

“Your Grace?” Ser Gerold Hightower’s voice took him out of his reverie.

“Yes Ser what is it?” Duncan asked.

“Lords Baratheon, Tarly and Dondarrion wish to speak with you about the upcoming battle.” Ser Gerold said.

Duncan sighed and wiped his brow once more. “Very well see them in.” Ser Gerold bowed and then shortly after Duncan’s goodbrother Lord Edric a tall and broad man, Lord Tarly thin and lithe and Lord Dondarrion a big brute walked in. “My lords,” Duncan said. “Please be seated.” Once they were all sat down, Duncan took the map from the table and rolled it up. “Now what word from our scouts?”

Lord Edric spoke then. “Nothing has been heard or seen from Lord Tyrell since he set out my prince. Other than that the Dornish host remains where it was camped on the outskirts of the Vaith River. None of the scouts know who the commander is, but their numbers seem to be around 9,000.”

Duncan sighed. “So they hold slightly less men then we do. Has there been any word from the north? Do we know if Lord Lannister is coming with the reinforcements?”

Lord Tarly shook his head then. “Not that we are aware of my prince. It is entirely possible that these vipers have shot down whatever ravens were sent and therefore no one north of the pass knows of the predicament we are in.”

Duncan sighed then and said. “Be that as it may, I want another two ravens sent out one for King’s Landing and one for Highgarden. Olenna Redwyne might already be a harridan but she will know her duty and will call more men should we ask for them. Otherwise we shall be overwhelmed. We must march for Yronwood if we want to get Dorne to bend.”

“What do you suggest my prince?” Lord Tarly asked.

Duncan sighed once more. “We must lead the Dornishmen away from the Vaith, and we must not make them think we would be as obvious as to head towards Yronwood. Lord Dondarrion I want you to lead the right towards the host at the Vaith and then veer towards Yronwood castle. Lords Baratheon and Tarly I want you come in at that point and crush whatever forces chase after Lord Dondarrion’s host. I shall lead the remaining men and attack whatever men do not chase after you.”

Lords Tarly and Dondarrion nodded the faithful soldiers they were, as expected only Duncan’s goodbrother voiced any objections. “My prince, how can you be sure that the Dornishmen will give chase to Lord Dondarrion and will not simply sniff out a plot? How can you be sure they will not turn round when they realise you are not amongst the hosts fighting them and smash you from behind?”

Duncan smiled wryly then and said. “Because if I am right, then Gyles Stark will be commanding their host, and he will want to fight me. He will remain behind to see if I do the same, and that will be his downfall.”

And so they set out from where they were camped, 15,000 men, Stormlords, Crownlords, riverlords and some Dornishmen who claimed to be loyal to Loreza Martell. They marched and three days later they were fighting the Dornish host camped at the base of the Vaith. The host that was ready for their arrival as if they had expected it. Duncan watched from the side with Ser Gerold and Ser Gwayne at his side waiting for the trap to be set, when it was he drew Dark Sister and led the charge into the reserve of the Dornish host. The fighting was sudden and quick. Duncan hacked and slashed his way through the men who came in his way hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing, cutting and ducking, dodging he winced as some of the enemies blows hit him but on he went, he persevered and on and on he fought.

Many Dornishmen lay dead at his feet when he came across the man he had been looking for. Gyles Stark the hero of the Dornish rebellion, was sat atop a blood red sand steed decked in red armour a sword glinting in the sun, bathed in red, as Duncan’s was. Duncan cut through his guards and met the man in a clash of steel. “So you have come to die have you kinslayer?” Stark asked. Duncan grunted and their fight continued. Steel clashed, blows were exchanged, again and again they fought clashing steel on steel, denting the other’s weapon, and still they thought.

Duncan drew first blood, cutting through Stark’s defences and denting his armour so bad above his arm that blood showed through. Stark got him back many times over though, hacking away at Duncan until he felt tired and that’s when the blows came one after the other, one after the other, pummelling him into submission. He was cut and bloody, his armour was sticking to his body, weighing him down and somehow that gave him more strength and he fought on pushing Stark back and giving as good as he got, cutting and denting the man’s armour several times, before Stark retaliated and Duncan’s sword and his arm came flying off.

He barely had anytime to scream from the pain than he felt Stark’s sword at his throat. He looked at Stark through his armour and said. “Do it then boy, do it and see what it brings you.”

He was not sure where Ser Gerold and Ser Gwayne were likely caught up in the fighting, but he knew what would happen should Stark actually kill him. Stark sneered at him and snarled. “Oh with pleasure my prince of bones.” There was nothing fancy about Prince Duncan’s death, Stark simply shoved his sword through the prince’s neck and then pulled it out again. Prince Duncan Targaryen died as he had lived on the battlefield fighting for what he loved and believed in, he died at the battle of the Vaith on the fourth day of the seventh month of the 257th year after Aegon’s Landing.

* * *

 

 

**Princess Loreza Martell**

King’s Landing was a completely different place compared to Sunspear, it was much colder, and there was so much more intrigue and gossip here than there ever had been in Sunspear. Loreza found that although she did miss Sunspear and though she did dream of getting her home back from those traitorous Yronwoods, she did quite prefer King’s Landing, simply because it was so much more interesting and the people within the court of King Aegon were so much more lively and interesting than those that had served at her own court back in Sunspear. She was not sure if that made her a bad person or whether such a thing was normal, she knew for one thing though, she could not speak of this to anyone, not her husband Ser Derryk Caron nor even her brother Prince Lewyn Martell. Derryck was still a mystery to her, he had these northern ideas of chivalry and honour and was usually a very closed of person, and Lewyn was sworn to the king.

Her only comforts from her doubts were her son Doran, who continued to grow and prosper every day, he had turned ten just a few moons ago, and was now squiring for Ser Duncan the tall Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Her other comfort was the friendship she had developed with Lady Joanna Lannister from the Rock, Joanna was a sweet woman with a charming attitude towards life and an undeniable wit, though she was a few years younger to Loreza, she did not mind the company. It kept her mind off the people she had lost in Dorne when she had had to flee as if she was some sort of vagabond who had done wrong.

The king had kept to his promise and a force of men under his son Prince Duncan the Small had ridden out to reclaim her homeland from the Yronwoods and their allies. News had at first been short, when news of Lord Tyrell’s first failed attempt to break through the Roost had reached court, Loreza had laughed at the man’s foolishness and the king had raged. His son had done a much better job of it all, and as such they had broken through the roost and then had defeated more of the lords that had sworn themselves to that snake Yronwood. Loreza had hoped that perhaps she might see her homeland soon, but it seemed that dream was fast dying. Lord Tyrell had been sent northward by Prince Duncan, and had not been heard from since then, some thought he was dead, others thought he had gone rogue, none knew what had happened.

There had been no word from Prince Duncan either until a messenger bearing the livery of House Allyrion had arrived in King’s Landing, beaten and tired with a box with him. The box had contained Prince Duncan’s head, the man had been killed by Lord Gyles Stark, revenge for the deaths of his father and countless others during another war. The king had gone into despair at the death of his heir, and Loreza had feared that the war would be called off. But it had not, King Aegon had instead ordered Lewyn to lead a new set of men, to prove his loyalty and to take back what should be the iron throne’s. Lewyn had left with more men from the riverlands, and men from the Vale and the fighting had resumed.

Thad had been three moons ago, and during that period there had been no news and then one day Loreza had been summoned to the council chambers, and Loreza had seen her brother there, dressed in the white of the Kingsguard, covered with blood and mud and other dirt. She had listened as he had told them the tale of the battles he had fought and the betrayals he had faced, some of the lords had turned on him and his men for gold and other promises form Yronwood. Lewyn had been lucky to escape with his life, he and Jon Arryn had lead the retreat not through the pass but using barges to sail from the outskirts of the Wyl toward the Dornish Marches and from there they had ridden hard. Loreza’s husband had come with them and he had been a changed man, he was even more withdrawn and when he had returned he had taken to visiting her chambers on rare occasions, usually after he had been drinking.

Before the war, Loreza had given him two stillborn sons named Mors and Olyvar, and she had feared she was barren, but whilst he was away at war Elia was born. Her beautiful daughter was everything to her, she focused on her children especially Elia, her beautiful frail daughter who the grand maester had said would not live long. Loreza did not believe him and that Elia was now a year old only made her feel relief and satisfaction. She was with child once more, this time she hoped it would be a boy, someone who could protect Elia when Doran would rule.

The king had not forgotten her though, and he had summoned her to court one day sometime after the war with Dorne had been ended. He had looked old and haggard, his wife had returned to court from Summerhall, and she was sat by his side for the first time since Loreza had been at court, and the king had said. “Princess Loreza, I made a promise to you that for so long as I drew breath your right to Dorne would be remembered and I would do all I could to make sure you got what was rightfully yours back. This first attempt has failed, and there has been much bloodshed. I cannot in good faith ask my men to march south once more, not now. Now we need peace, and as such I hope you can accept that.” Loreza had voiced her acceptance. The king had gone on. “That does not mean that I have forgotten you or yours no, Summerhall the summer palace of my family is vacant now. I give you Summerhall and all its lands and incomes, and name you overlord of the marches, Princess of Summerhall. Prince Doran shall be named Prince of the marches when your day comes. I also name Ser Edric Dayne Lord of Blackhaven following the deaths of House Dondarrion.”

And so Loreza and her family had arrived at their new home, the lords of the marches, Lords Caron, Dayne, Cafferen, Grandison, Swann and Selmy had all acknowledged her as their princess, and though there was some tension with Storm’s End, Loreza worked hard to make sure that her lords respected her. The first thing she had done was to institute the laws that Dorne had followed since Nymeria’s invasion, Loreza decreed with the king’s approval that all first born children from this day forward be they girls or boys would inherit their father’s lordship and incomes in the marches. She did give her lords a bone though, she allowed that any children born before the decree could be chosen by their parents, and as such the majority of the lords decided to keep their firstborn sons as their heirs. Apart from Lord Edric Dayne, who had been but nine when they had arrived in King’s Landing, seventeen now he had wed Melissa Dondarrion and had had twins by her, twins he had named Allem and Allyria. Allyria was born first and so she was named heir by Edric.

Loreza also spent a fair bit of time strengthening the defences of the marches as well to prevent any further raiding from occurring, these included a watch tower being built which her husband named the Tower of Joy, it stood on the border between the marches and Dorne, and would serve as a watch tower. She also spent much time talking with Lord Edric Baratheon and together they established a system of patrols for the marches and the Rainwood to ensure no bandits or trouble could come and reach them.

A knock on the door took her from her thoughts, she called for whoever it was to come in and found herself face to face with maester Gerold, the man had served at Summerhall since King Aegon had been a child apparently and was loyal to the castle but whether he was loyal to her or to the king was yet to be seen. “Princess, there are guests who wish to speak with you. If you are feeling up to the task?”

Loreza nodded. “Show them in. And find my husband as well if you would be so good maester.” The man nodded and then scampered out and soon enough the guests entered and Loreza gasped. “Alric, Olyvar, Nymeria how did you get here?”

Her friends, Alric Gargalen, Olyvar Allyrion and Nymeria Santagar she had thought dead during the war, but here they stood smiling at her and bowing before her, it was Alric bold as ever who spoke first. “My princess, it is an honour. One I thought never to have again. We have come to pledge ourselves to you and to your family.”

She was still stunned and yet she stammered out. “But your families have sworn themselves to Yronwood. How did you manage to get here, with the patrols I have running through the marches?”

 Olyvar gave her a sly smile then and said. “Ah, Loreza sweet innocent Loreza, there are ways one can get past guards without giving themselves away.”

She was about to speak when the door opened and her husband walked in, Derryck was a big man, with a mop of brown hair and a temper though he hid it well. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”He barked.

“Derryck, these are my friends. Alric Gargalen, Olyvar Allyrion and Nymeria Santagar, friends this is my husband Ser Derryck Caron.” Loreza said.

The men stared at each other sizing each other no doubt though Nymeria dipped into a curtsey and said. “My lord a pleasure, for all of us.”

Derryck was unmoving though. “I ask again what you are doing here in the Marches. And how did you get past the patrols we have?”

Alric spoke then a bite to his tone. “We were just about to explain ourselves before you came in my lord. Now if you would be so kind, we would like to explain.”

Her husband gritted his teeth but merely nodded. Olyvar took the tale up. “After the war, we saw just what methods Berros Yronwood would go to making sure he kept what he stole from you and House Martell Loreza. Those who did not fight hard enough were whipped and the smallfolk were burned to death or were raped by his men. Gyles Stark was the worst, the man went on a rampage after he killed Prince Duncan. Things have gotten out of control in Dorne with the Yronwoods in control. It is as if they have forgotten what it means to be human and not kings.”

Nymeria spoke then. “We have come to present a plan to you, and to pledge the allegiances of our houses to your cause my princess.”

“Go on,” Loreza said.

“Houses Allyrion, Santagar and Gargalen will give you their swords and spears should you decide to march south for Dorne again. We know the Lemonwoods and the Fowlers will also do so, the new lord of Skyreach is easy to manipulate. There is unrest in Dorne as well following the war, the smallfolk pine for your return as do the lords and ladies. Yronwood’s treatment of the Ullers is especially making many think twice. When you call for us we shall be ready and Dorne shall be yours.” Olyvar Allyrion said.

Derryck snorted then. “Bold words boy, but how do we know you speak the truth? Your houses have still sworn allegiance to Yronwood and none of you did for Stark when you had the chance. How do we know you will not double cross us as Prince Duncan was double crossed?”

Alric Gargalen smiled then and said. “Because we have already put plans into motion my lord. We just need our princess’s approval.”


	53. Dimmu Borgir

**Prince Daemon Stark**

Summer, beautiful summer, where the sun shone and lit up all it touched, a beautiful thing summer in the north. The people no longer needed to clothe themselves in heavy burden clothes, but could get away with wearing just a doublet and breeches even in the further northern parts such as Last Hearth. Summer had brought with it good trade and the lands of the north and the Iron Islands prospered and coin filled the coffers of the royal treasury, the people were becoming fat off of the produce of the land, noble and peasant alike and Daemon was happy for that. Peace was a good thing to have, it meant wounds could be healed and that the people could work together to ensure that there was nothing left to chance should something go awry come autumn.

It also seemed that with the coming of summer, the gods had seen fit to give Daemon the answer to one of his long held prayers. A raven had come from Sunspear some two days ago, from his brother Gyles announcing the crushing of the Targaryen invasion of Dorne and the death of the barbarous traitor Duncan Targaryen, who had died by Gyles’ own hand. Whilst, Daemon was somewhat disappointed that it was not he who had been able to snuff the life out of the Targaryen dragon spawn, he was happy enough that at least Gyles had been the one to do the deed and it had not been some other Dornishmen. This had been a family matter and now that one part of it had been dealt with there was some satisfaction for Daemon. He no longer needed to spend time going over in agonising detail how he would kill Duncan the Small should their paths ever cross, and now he felt himself returning to some form of normality with part of his desire for revenge sated.  That Aegon Targaryen still lived as did Duncan’s children was still a pain for Daemon, but it would be a short lived pain for Daemon was already making plans to deal with the fools who had dared kill his father.

His brother had detailed the defence of Dorne with some detail and Daemon had once more felt pride for his brother, pride that his brother had single handily now not only conquered Dorne but had also led its defence. Killing Duncan Targaryen and forcing Lewyn Martell and the remainder of his men to flee northwards when the final push had come. Once more the Starks had shown up the folly and madness that had become King Aegon Targaryen in the south, they had once more shown the world that the Targaryens were egoistical bastards who would stop at nothing to get what they thought should be theirs by rights, even if the people they thought to conquer rejected them and fought them tooth and nail. From what Daemon had heard from their spies in the south, there was a great deal of tension in the south, Aegon Targaryen was treading a fine line now, he had waged two wars that had ended in humiliating defeats for him and his lords were growing weary and tired of war. That was good for Daemon and for what he was planning, for it would make it a great deal easier to achieve if the lords of the south were contemplating removing Aegon Targaryen from the throne.

Daemon also had other reasons to be happy for his brother, whilst he still remained a widow, his brother had wedded and bedded some girl from House Toland and had of course gotten her with child almost immediately. Gyles wrote that his children continued to grow daily and that he deeply wished that they could meet their northern cousins but as his duty dictated him to remain in Dorne for now, they could not. Whilst Daemon understood his brother’s desire to ensure all was well in Dorne before he ever tried to bring his children north, he could not help but think that perhaps his brother was beginning to view Dorne as more of a home than the north had ever been to him. Daemon had always had the feeling of belonging in the north, that he supposed his brother bastard as he was had never felt or had, and so if Gyles felt more compelled to remain in Dorne where he felt welcomed and honoured then so be it, whatever he chose to do Daemon would respect his wishes.

He knew well enough that his grandfather had grown tired of waiting for him to chose a bride for himself. They had reached an agreement about that, but Daemon had at first been quite reluctant to properly put his heart into the matter so deep was his grief over Samaira and Jorelle’s deaths that to even consider replacing them seemed like an insult to their memory, and that it was because of his grandfather that they had died, Daemon could not truly go through with it. After his grief had faded, Daemon had spent some time looking over the various options that were available to him, women from Houses Dustin, Ryswell, Umber, Dreadstark, Greyjoy, Karstark all over the kingdom came before him, to try and win his favour, he found none he liked, some became good friends of his and some even bed companions but none were women he would wish to wed.

Eventually the time came where a raven from Volantis arrived announcing that Visenya Blackfyre the last of two Blackfyres in the world had flowered and was ready for marriage and so Daemon had met with his grandfather and consented for a betrothal with the girl. She had come by ship with her brother Maelys, who himself was quite an intimidating man though a tragic character with his deformity, as well as two members of the golden company. Their party was in Winterfell for two moons and during that time Daemon got to know his betrothed. She was a fierce girl, just turned fifteen at the time she had come to Winterfell, a life on the run had taught her how to defend herself and whilst he found that endearing and useful he could not help but resent her for what she represented. They were betrothed and then married on the last week that Maelys Blackfyre was in Winterfell. A short ceremony done in the godswood, not done with as much pomp as what had happened for his marriage to Samaira, and that was because of what he had asked for. That had been six moons ago, and his wife was with child now, she thought it would be a boy, and as such they had discussed all sorts of names for the child, his wife he had learnt was stubborn on most things but willing to compromise on the names of their unborn child though she was not, she insisted on giving it a valyrian name and though Daemon did not want a child of his bearing the names of people who had brought nothing but suffering to his home, he agreed eventually. As such he was convinced it would be a girl, something inside of him convinced him of that fact.

He shook his head and brought his attention back to the discussion raging on in the small council chamber. The members of the council were all present today, Grand Maester Aemon, High Steward Lord Edwyle Stark, High Admiral Lord Edrick Cassel, Lord Treasurer Lord Edwyn Berstark, High Shadow Lord Donnor Reed and finally Daemon’s own grandfather King Daeron Stark. Lord Reed was speaking most animatedly. “My excursions to the wall have shown me that the Night’s Watch is nowhere near ready for the type of invasion that the wildlings are planning, they are deeply undermanned and the fact that the southerners are content to let the wall rot for their own selfish reasons means that there is a lack of fighters there who know how to instruct and teach. I am telling you my prince, without sufficient training and preparation the watch will be overwhelmed when the wildlings come marching and then we shall face a threat from the north, the like of which has not been seen since Bael the Bard.”

Lord Edwyle spoke then. “So what do you suggest we do Lord Reed? Do you propose that we send our best fighters to the wall in order to train those whose duty it is to defend the realm from these savages as best as possible regardless of what their own struggles might be? We have enough issues to be thinking over without this one hanging over our heads as well.”

Maester Aemon spoke then his voice ponderous. “Perhaps what Lord Reed says is not so farfetched Lord Edwyle. After all though the night’s watch is sworn to defend the realms of men from whatever lurks beyond the wall, the watch is not what it once was, and has not been an instrument of pride for some time. Perhaps it is time to change that, second and third sons from the lords of the north would see it as an honour to serve the realm in any capacity and if it means going north and perhaps taking the black or serving as trainers for the new recruits the watch has then I do not see why that should be an issue. After all, there will be no more wars in the south that we have to worry about.”

Lord Edwyn spoke then his tone brash as always. “I have to disagree with you there Maester Aemon. Those sailors who come to port at White Harbour have been bringing tales of the growing tension in Essos between Volantis and various others of the free cities. And Lord Manderly has heard reports from his own sources that Lys means to launch an invasion on the sisters and the eastern coast.”

Lord Reed spoke then. “My sources have not reported anything of the sort my prince. Though it is possible they missed something considering the fact that I have been sending them north of the wall to make assessments of the wildlings.”

Maester Aemon soothed whatever worries Reed might have had. “And you have served the crown well Lord Reed. We have made many preparations for the impending invasion from the wildlings and I am sure Prince Daemon will take into consideration your reasons for sending men north to better prepare the watch. But this issue with Lys must be considered as well, we cannot let another front of war open up on the eastern coast.”

“I believe we must send men north to the wall. It would not do to have the watch fail, and have wildlings scampering about the countryside. We saw what chaos they caused during the time of Raymun’s invasion and they were stopped at Long Lake at that point. I say the Lyseni are laying a false trail, but what they hope to accomplish by doing that I know not.” Lord Edrick said.

“Men will be sent north to the wall, Maester Aemon send out a raven for the lords of the north and the isles, if any second or third sons wish to join the watch or head north to help defend their kingdom then they are welcome to do so. Ships will leave from the Stony Shore and from White Harbour as well as from Pyke. Lord Edwyn you say that there are threats coming from Lys, find out what you can and next time we meet I want a fully detailed report. If we are to face another invasion I want to be able to crush it before it begins.” Daemon said.

“My prince whilst the ravens are a good idea, there will need be some sort of push a figurehead will be needed to show the lords that they are not sending their men to empty glory or dreams, someone will be needed to show them the glory in what they are doing.” Maester Aemon said.

Daemon was silent for a moment and then said. “Well my uncle Jonnel has done nothing of note since coming back from Essos, he can lead the campaign. Send him on the recruiting drive and more men will rally to the cause.”

* * *

 

**Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen**

Summer was sweltering in King’s Landing, it always had been. When he had been younger, a child really he had always marvelled at how hot the city could become, and before he had truly understood just how his health prevented him from doing the things he wanted to do, he had played with his brother and sister and cousins in the courtyard, in the streets and had gone swimming in the Blackwater, doing things that would give him a coughing fit nowadays. As he had grown older and had grown more aware of what he could and could not do he had grown to despise King’s Landing and what it represented, preferring to spend his time in Summerhall with Aelix and then later with his mother.

But now here he was in King’s Landing, the hand of the king, to his father King Aegon, and he hated every moment of what was happening in the city of vipers, to his family, and to the kingdom that they ruled. When he had married Alysanne, Jaehaerys had never truly considered the repercussions of what marrying for love would have on the kingdom, he had been young and foolish and had wanted to follow his heart, after all his father and mother had. It just happened to be that Alysanne came from a family, who were slowly on the rise back up to power, the Osgreys had grown rich and wealthy following the survival of Lord Addam Osgrey after the Blackfyres, and Jaehaerys marrying the man’s granddaughter had made it so that Lord Harrold Osgrey no longer thought it wise to fight for the black dragon.

If only Duncan’s marriage had been as convenient as his own had been. Duncan, his big brother the man the crown and all its problems and woes were meant for. Duncan who had always been popular and well liked, who was able to charm anyone with a few words and a smile, Duncan who could have had any maiden in the kingdom and yet had fallen for a common girl. As much as Jaehaerys liked Jenny, he could not help but resent her somewhat, she had caused his brother to not do his duty and she had also made it so that Duncan’s position as heir to the throne had come into question and though their father had continued treating Duncan as the heir, Jaehaerys had taken up much more responsibility and had been given Dragonstone as well. The pressure of living up to his brother had always caused Jaehaerys problems, but now it caused him headaches and sweats, it was painful.

Duncan was dead now though, killed fighting in Dorne, fighting another one of their father’s wars. Their father had cost them another brother in the war before, the war he started against the north, Aelix had died trying to prove himself to the world that he was more than just King Aegon’s son, that he was a skilled warrior or more so than his brother, he was dead now though, dead and buried as was Duncan. Jaehaerys mother Rhae had gone into a fit of grief when the news of Duncan’s death had reached the capital, the whole city had mourned the passing of their brave prince, and there were murmurs of the gods wrath coming down on them for the sins of previous kings. Including Jaehaerys own Grandfather King Maekar who many still called a kinslayer. Jaehaerys mother had died some two moons ago, from a fever the maesters said, though Jaehaerys thought it was more than likely she had simply given up hope, dying a relief for her, away from King Aegon and his madness and plots. Oh how he envied her, he wished sometimes that he could die, but he could not, he could not leave the kingdom to his father’s growing madness and insatiable desire for dragons, he needed to curtail it as best as he could, whether he would be able to he knew not.

He had after all caved into his father’s demands and ordered his son and daughter Aerys and Rhaella to wed each other, though he had been trying to organise suitable marriages for them both. He knew Aerys had had a liking for Joanna Lannister and had thought that perhaps a match between Targaryen and Lannister would be a good thing; it would help to have the gold of the rock behind them even if the rock was ruled by a weakling and a coward. As for Rhaella, Jaehaerys was not sure who he would have wedded her to if not her brother; his little girl was such a fiery little thing, passionate, strong and smart, and more than a match for any man. He knew she had had a fancy for some knight from the Stormlands Hasty he remembered the lad being called but the lad was no match suitable for a Targaryen Princess. Perhaps Jon Arryn, might have been a good call, but for now such thoughts were no longer needed.

He regretted caving into his father’s demands that Aerys and Rhaella wed, he regretted ever reading that damnable book about the prince who was promised that had given his father the idea to listen to that damnable wood’s witch. He should have stood up for his children and told his father no, he should have done so many things, and that he had not done them would continue to haunt him he was sure until his dying day. He only wished to see his sister one last time as well if he were to die, he wanted her to be there, Rhaelle, his sweet and beautiful sister who had always had his back no matter what, she and Edric had always been Jaehaerys closest friends but now they seemed so distant and he knew why it was, and that only made him regret not standing up to his father all the more painful.

Still that was done now, Rhaella was with child, and hopefully the succession would be secure with the birth, as for now though he had a council meeting he needed to attend. Accompanied by Ser Gerold Hightower of the Kingsguard, Jaehaerys walked from the throne room to the small council chamber where Ser Gerold joined his fellow sworn brother Prince Lewyn on guard. Inside the room, the king, master of coin Ser Monford Tyrell, master of laws Lord Horras Bolton, master of whispers Ser Dontos Waters, master of ships Lord Maegon Velaryon, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Duncan and finally grand maester Pycelle were already present. Jaehaerys excused himself for being late and then sat down. Once he was seated Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat and then said. “Your Grace, my lords there has been word from Dorne; it appears that there has been an attempt to put the Martells back in power and it was crushed.”

Jaehaerys nodded, this was no news, Loreza Martell had written to them of the plot her friends had concocted and though his father had given his approval to it all, they had never thought it would work. The king spoke his voice weary and tired. “Who were the leaders of the rebelling forces?”

Pycelle looks at the paper in front of him and says. “Ser Alric Gargalen and Ser Olyvar Allyrion Your Grace. Both men as well as their commanders have been executed and their bodies hung on display throughout Dorne as an example for those who would try and rebel again.”

“Send word to Summerhall, Loreza will wish to know.” The king said to maester, and then he asked. “Now what other issues are there that we need to discuss?”

Waters speaks then and says. “It appears as if the northerners have fallen for the little ruse we put in store for them with regards to Lys and their intentions. Daemon Stark has ordered his lackeys to strengthen White Harbour, the eastern coast and of course Stony Shore. These acts have of course caused Jon Arryn and Tytos Lannister to strengthen their own coastal defences, as well as causing awkward trading relations with Lys themselves for the north. Soon enough whatever trade they had with the city will disappear.”

Jaehaerys saw his father smile then. “Good,” the king said. “Continue spreading the seeds of doubt and remove the weak link in our chain in the north before Aemon comes to know about it Ser Dontos.” The knight nods and then the king ask. “Now what of the Iron Bank have the gotten back to you Ser Monford with regards to the loan they claim that we have taken out?”

Ser Monford Tyrell uncle to the fat flower Lord Luthor Tyrell was a capable administrator and as such was confident when he answered the king. “Indeed I do Your Grace. The Iron Bank’s ambassador admits now that they got the loans mixed up with the ones put in by Aerion Targaryen, and as such have recompensed the royal treasury for the hassle they put us through.”

“That is good, that is very good. Now what word of Blackfyre? Has the boy moved from Volantis since we last met?” the king asked.

Ser Dontos spoke then. “He has Your Grace, he met with a group of cutthroats and pirates and has formed an alliance with them. They call themselves the band of nine and aim to work towards getting each other what they desire.”

“Pirates and cutthroats? I am sure they can be bought off then to remove Maelys Blackfyre from trying to gain Westeros.” Lord Maegon said.

The king paid no attention to his goodbrother and instead asked. “Have they made any progress this band of nine and are they getting any support from Volantis or any of the other free cities?”

Waters is silent for a moment and then he replies. “Volantis remains neutral, it appears that Aerion means to keep the peace in his lands for now. But they have the support of Lorath and Qohor, though those two cities cannot do much in the way of men and arms. Still they managed to take Tyrosh quite easily and have installed Alequo Adarys as the Archon of Tyrosh with Maelys being the one to slay the previous Archon. My sources within the company report that they have set their sights on the Stepstones now.”

Jaehaerys looked at his father and saw that King Aegon seemed tired and worn out, more war it appeared would be on the cards. The king’s voice was determined when he spoke next. “Very well, I want you to keep using the chain we have in the north. Lys cannot support the Blackfyre cause, and we must keep the Starks distracted for long enough. I want the warden titles activated, when Maelys Blackfyre lands on the Stepstones he shall meet the lords of Westeros, and the Blackfyre shall end once and for all.”

“There is one more thing Your Grace,” Ser Dontos said. When the king nodded the man continued. “Blackfyre has a bastard son, born from a daughter of Shiera Seastar and Aegor Rivers. It is said the boy is no older than a year but still a bastard could still pose a threat.”

Jaehaerys looked at his father and though he knew what was coming next he still felt physically sick when he heard the words coming from his father’s mouth. “Very well, the bastard cannot live. Send a knife close to the man to do the deed. Now everyone but Jaehaerys and Dunk leave.”

The members of the council filed out and then Jaehaerys spoke once the door was closed. “You cannot seriously mean to kill a babe father! The child is not even legitimate it is but a bastard.”

His father had a hard look to him when he replied. “Bastard or no, the brat could still be used to present a threat towards us and the dynasty. I will not have someone like Daeron Stark use the child to continue this gods damned war. No once the bastard is dead the Blackfyre line will end for good. For none will fight for that whore Visenya Blackfyre. Now are the preparations for Dragonsville complete?”

Jaehaerys sighed. “Yes father, when are we leaving for Dragonsville?”

His father had a glint to his eye when he said. “Once Blackfyre is dead, in two moons time we leave for Dragonsville and this time we shall not fail. The dragons will live once more.”


	54. Dethroned and Uncrowned

**Maelys Blackfyre**

Life had always been hard for Maelys Blackfyre, born into the family who had the true claim to the Iron Throne, instead of growing up in the Red Keep as was his right he had grown up in army camps in Tyrosh and Lys and Volantis. Doing what he could to make sure his family, what little was left of it was kept safe and away from harm. That he had been born with a deformity, his twin’s head was attached to his own, had merely made him all the more determined to make it so that his family had what was rightfully theirs. He was the only male of House Blackfyre left, his cousins were all female, atleast those that had not been taken into custody or killed during the wars that had been fought, Visenya was his heir and he deeply hoped that he would be able to give her what their father had not been able to give him.

His father had been old when Maelys was a child, an old and bitter man, weighed down by all the defeat and sorrow that his life had been from a very young age. Maelys had been terrified of his father, Haegon Blackfyre could be very intimidating when he wanted to be, and he had not been one to tolerate any foolishness from his men or even his children, Maelys had known the cane many a time during his childhood. He had been there when his father was cut down by some Westerosi knight, and he had seen the look of pure relief on his father’s face as he bled out and breathed his last, the burden was no longer his, it was now Maelys’. They had come back from Westeros beaten and tired and then the Archon had kicked the company out of his city, claiming that he was never going to get the rewards that he had been promised by Bittersteel, they had nowhere to go other than Volantis and though Maelys pride had been stung having to beg for alms from Aerion Targaryen he had done so and he had sat and plotted his next move.

As he plotted his next move he had watched his sister grow, Visenya who had been born without the affliction that had so scarred Maelys life, she was everything he was not, beautiful, fierce and intelligent, should they be successful in this campaign she would be far better suited to ruling than he would ever be. Maelys had seen how Visenya had excelled in the court politics of Volantis, how she had played the nobles there for all they worth and that too as a young girl, she was sixteen now, and was heavy with child from what Maelys had gathered, her son would be the king after him should they succeed and he meant to give her the throne, she would be more suited to it than he would be. Of that he was sure. Maelys had always known that he was more of a fighter, he had fought in so many battles now that it was hard for him to imagine doing anything else, and he knew that if he won this war, Westeros would not need another war mongerers as king, they would need someone who could bring them peace and prosperity and Visenya would be perfect for that.

Maelys knew though that if his men knew that they were actually fighting to put his sister on the throne in the long term, they would not fight as hard nor would they be as willing to make the sacrifices that they would have to make if they wanted to bring the Westerosi to heel. That was the justification Maelys gave himself for breaking his vow of chastity and sleeping with that woman from the camp, they been in Yunkai and Maelys had taken up with some whore, or was she a noblewoman it was hard for him to remember, still she had been attracted to him for some reason and Maelys through the alcohol induced reasoning had taken advantage of that and had placed a bastard in her belly, his son Rhaegon had been born perfectly formed and whole and healthy thank the gods, with a mop of silver hair and piercing purple eyes, Maelys was convinced that the boy would amount to great things even if he never ascended the throne. Still with the boy born and around and healthy having just seen his second name day, Maelys knew his men would fight harder now as they would believe they were also fighting for Rhaegon and the future of the male Blackfyre line.

He also knew that his allies, the infamous cut throats who made up other members of the band of nine were convinced that Maelys meant to name Rhaegon as his heir, they were in the dark as to his true intentions, still they were more willing to enter the alliance with him and the company now Rhaegon was around and healthy and seemingly sane. Maelys trusted his allies little though, he would be a fool to actually trust them, men like the Ebon Prince and Saaro Saan did not become as feared as they were by having morals and a proper sense of honour, men like Alequo would likely horde everything they had now that they were in power as well, those three were main men of the band apart from Maelys the others were all minor players who Maelys could deal with once he became king.

For the time being though he took advantage of their services, they had been particularly useful in the taking of Tyrosh. The city where Maelys had been born and had not seen since he was twelve, oh it had been a good feeling to take the port and kill that bastard harbour master who had taken much pleasure in evicting Maelys and his sister all those years ago, he had buried Blackfyre deep within the man’s chest and throat and then carried on. He had been the one to kill Archon Nestos, the man who had thrown Maelys on his arse all those years ago, the man had pleaded for mercy for clemency but Maelys had given him justice instead, sword through the bowels, his head adorned a spike now. Tyrosh was now part of the Band’s territory as was the Disputed Lands, Myr and Lys cowered in fear of them and had given them men and ships and they were now making their way for the Stepstones.

Still councils of war needed to be held and so they were being held on the Ebon Prince’s flagship, The Dancing Snake. In the main deck hall on the war galley were gathered the nine, Maelys, The Ebon Prince, Saaro Saan, Alequo, Mors Ultor the mad wolf of the sea, Doran Sand the mad viper, Vaegyl Maegyr the Tiger King, Aeryl Boyar, Maegor and Daemon Lorde. All were men of fierce repute and all were focused on taking the Stepstones and from there Westeros. The Prince spoke first in that misleadingly soft voice of his. “We are fast approaching the Stepstones my lords. Soon we shall learn whether these Westerosi have fire in their blood or simply salt.”

“Has there been any movement on the islands?” Maelys asked. “Do we know if the pretender knows what it is that is to hit him?”

Ultor spoke then. “Aye Your Grace, there has been. It appears that the pretender knows what to expect, though he is not aware of how many men we have at our disposal. My sources tell me that he has called the wardens of what remains of his kingdom together and has them sail to the Stepstones, to prepare for our landing. It appears that they are being led by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard himself Ser Duncan the Tall.”

“What else have your spies been able to gather?” Maelys asked.

The mad wolf of the sea smiled a wolfish grin then and said. “It appears that the king has ordered his lords to congregate on separate islands, likely our sources in his camp have told him we mean to land on different islands. A large portion of his men are like to be on Bloodstone and the other portion on Grey Gallows.”

Maelys nodded. “That is good, Bloodstone will give us a chance to see just how strong the Westerosi defences truly are, if we break them there then Grey Gallows will be a hindrance and not a help for the pretender and his men.”

The Ebon Prince spoke then. “So where would you have us land Your Grace? For if we bring all of our ships and men down on one island then we risk being flanked in the rear from those men the pretender has on Grey Gallows and the Sleeper.”

Maelys was silent for a moment and then said. “Then we land on Grey Gallows and we take the attack to them, destroy their forces on that island and they will be trapped. Bring the might of our alliance down on them, and they shall crumble. There has been no fighting on the Stepstones by Westerosi for a century now, they will not know how to do so, and we shall take advantage of that.”

There was silence and then a hum of agreement. Maelys left the deck hall and went to stand on the top deck staring out to sea and watching as the Stepstones came closer into view, as they got closer to the islands, the Ebon Prince came to stand beside him, and together they watched as the men on the war galleys began firing arrows at the men camped on the islands. The arrows rained down on the men fighting for the pretender and Maelys could hear their screams from where he was far away aboard the Dancing Snake. Eventually once a way had been paved for them to safely land on the islands, Maelys got armoured and took his sword from his squire, and then mounted his black war horse. When the gang plank was lowered Maelys was the first one down it and onto solid ground the fighting had begun.

This was what he lived for the battle, the rush of it all, steel on steel where the only thing preventing you from death was your sword and your reactions and skill. He slashed through men, cutting them to pieces like they were nothing more than meat, on he went, hacking and slashing, hacking and slashing. He cut through men bearing sigils he had read about in books but had never seen in the flesh before, he cut through men both young and old, fighting like a man possessed like a demon. On he fought; cutting through man after man, victory he could sense might be close at hand.

Eventually the tide of battle brought him face to face with a man bearing the arms of House Selmy of Harvest Hall, Maelys knew that sigil well, one of his former tutors had been from House Selmy. The youth rode towards Maelys at a full canter, and Maelys brought his sword up ready to block the blow that was coming, his arm jarred at the impact of it, but still it was a good swing. Maelys though, retaliated, swinging like the man he was swinging with all his strength, denting the man’s armour and so their dance began. Back and forth they fought, swinging their swords like men possessed as if they were the only two people in the world, the only two people that mattered.

Maelys swung his sword, and blocked, parried and hacked and cut, he dented the man’s armour a few times, the other man did the same to him. Their dance continued, swinging, hacking, cutting, ducking, dodging and blocking. The man was good with a sword, Maelys would give him that, the blows he landed dented Maelys armour and drew blood, he was not all that stronger than Maelys though and Maelys did manage to bloody the man a fair few times more than the man did to him. He swung his sword again and again, sparks began to fly from their blades, both of them were bathed in red, the blood of foes fallen and of each other, the fighting continued on and on and on and on. Maelys felt himself begin to tire, and yet the other man continued fighting, swinging his sword like a man possessed Maelys was being weighed down by his wounds and his armour and his second head, now it had started paining, he swung and missed and then felt a sword pierce his throat, and the world went black.

Maelys Blackfyre, captain general of the Golden Company and the last male descendant of Daemon Blackfyre died on the Stepstones on the 30th day of the fifth month of the 259th year after Aegon’s Landing and with him died the Blackfyre cause.

* * *

 

**King Aegon V Targaryen**

The Blackfyres were done for, the last Blackfyre of fighting age Maelys the two headed monster was dead, slain on the Stepstones by one Ser Barristan Selmy of Harvest Hall. The people of Westeros celebrated this news with fervour and much pageantry such things that Aegon had not seen since the days of his own boyhood. The wrongs he had done to the people of Westeros were forgotten and he was hailed as a hero, for seeing through the end of the Blackfyre threat and bringing peace to Westeros. Maelys Blackfyre would have been worse for Westeros than that idiot Daemon Blackfyre all agreed, a man with no clear heir and a two headed monster all the same, his death had restored the people’s faith in the Targaryen dynasty and Aegon was well pleased with that.

It helped he supposed that though the northern army had been mustered at Winterfell waiting for the Blackfyre monster to get a foothold in Westeros, with his death they had broken up and returned to their homes, and the hovels they called castles. That was good for Aegon as it meant that the  burning and pillaging that might have happened had the northern savages actually come south had not happened and therefore Aegon was able to show that the northmen were cowed and that their blindness to the destruction they had caused had finally been realised. The people Aegon knew, lords and smallfolk alike were thankful the northmen had not come down south once more, and were even thankful that Aegon himself had had the foresight to send men to prevent the Blackfyres from getting into Westeros.

Still it seemed as if the gods were not done joking with him yet. Aegon had given Ser Duncan and Ser Gerold strict commands that once Maelys was slain that they were to retrieve Blackfyre and bring it with them, he would need that damnable sword to end the rumours that had been floating around over the legitimacy of his family since the day his fool of a great grandfather gave it away to that prancing jack nape. Dunk had returned without the sword though, saying that some knight of the golden company had grabbed in the chaos that had erupted following Blackfyre’s death, and so Aegon was not surprised when his spies reported that Daeron Stark now had the sword in his possession, it appeared that old git would not let wounds lie now, if he ever would.

There was also further frustration for Aegon when Ser Dontos reported that the assassin sent to deal with Maelys Blackfyre’s bastard son had failed, and not only had he failed he had been tortured and killed, by men sent by Aerion to protect the child and its mother. That had angered him, even now all these years later his brother still insisted on ruining everything that would be good and beneficial to him and those he cared about. The boy was still alive and not only was he still alive, he had been legitimize by Aerion though at least his brother had had the good sense to keep him away from the company, and had sent the company off to fight in the Disputed Lands. He would need to deal with the boy once more before the fool could be raised as another threat to Westeros. He would need to deal with his fool of a brother as well, with Aerion still alive there were still threats to Westeros that needed to be dealt with, and they would need to be dealt with soon enough, though if all went to plan he did not think he would need to send any military might to bring his brother’s doom.

Still, amongst all the joy Aegon felt about the ending of the Blackfyre threat, there was some sadness and grief as well. He regretted what some of his decisions had cost his family and his people. Duncan and Aelix were dead because of the wars he had insisted on waging due to pride, pride that had cost him not only more respect but his sons lives as well. And for what? The north and Dorne still remained defiantly independent, and remained threats to his kingdom and its safety. He could not do anything to nullify the threats now, he could only hope with time that one of their rulers would make a mistake and the people of the kingdoms would come crawling back for Iron Throne protection.

Rhae was dead as well, from a fever Pycelle said though Aegon knew that his wife had given up hope of living through what madness he had inflicted on the family and what he was about give to them once more. She had always been a fighter his sister and wife, but the fight had left her when Duncan had died and when Aegon had continued his mad campaign to bring the family back to its previous glory days. He hoped that he could make it up to her spirit and memory over the next few years, what little time he had left he would try and make up for all the sins he had committed and he would do his best, and hope that when his own time came that it would be enough.

As he looked around Dragonsville and at the preparations being made for what was to happen later tonight, Aegon thought not for the first time about whether what he was doing was the right thing. The words of the prophecy had said that the even must happen near water and so he had chosen Dragonsville the place nearest the Trident, and he had brought Jaehaerys, Aerys and Rhaella with him, the parents of the prince needed to be there for when the dragons were born. That was what Aegon had told himself countless times but now that he was actually here he was beginning to doubt whether or not it had all been a mad fantasy, he could not show doubt not now though, he had come too far, it was all or nothing now.

“Everything is in place Your Grace.” The sound of Dunk’s voice took Aegon away from his thoughts.

“That is good old friend. Where are Aerys and Rhaella?” he asked.

“They are in their room as you asked Your Grace. Rhaella I believe is sleeping and Aerys is writing letters.” Duncan replied.

“Very good, and Jaehaerys?” he replied.

“With Ser Gerold Your Grace.” Dunk replied.

Aegon nodded and then asked his oldest friend. “Am I right in going through with this Dunk? I have been having doubts since the moment they told me Maelys Blackfyre was dead. Am I right to go through with this and to bring back the dragons, what happens if I bring them back and then something more happens? Aemon and Daenys are here, Jenny is here, but Aerys is here as well. Something seems off but I cannot place it my friend.”

Dunk was silent for a moment and then he replied. “If you think that something is wrong have the place searched Your Grace. If you think that what you want to do later this evening will not ease your mind then let it rest and take your family back home Your Grace. Do not go through with this thing unless you are one hundred percent certain.”

Aegon sighed then and said. “I do not think it is as simple as that old friend. The words the wood’s witch spoke claimed that now would be the perfect time for the eggs to hatch and for the prince to be born without the eggs would bring untold horrors to the world. War has brought enough horror to my people I will not bring more down upon them by doing nothing. But I do not want my family at harm’s way any more than they have to be. Aemon and Daenys shall remain here, they are my heirs after all, Rhaella should go to Darry, she will be safe there. But she cannot go yet, I do not think she will give birth straight away.”

His old friend merely looked at him then, and Aegon knew he had rambled, thankfully Dunk merely smiled and said soothingly. “DO what you think is best Your Grace and we shall act accordingly.”

Aegon nodded and then said. “Everyone shall remain here, but should something go wrong Rhaella must leave for Darry at once. I will not risk her.” Dunk nodded and then left the room. Aegon spent the next few hours preparing for what was to happen in the evening, mentally thinking through everything he had read and heard about the rituals that his family had done in ages past to get eggs to hatch, and he remembered hearing the stories of how the last dragons had hatched and how his great, great grandfather had told his grandfather the stories of the hatching of dragons such as Caraxes and Balerion. If such dragons emerged once more tonight then the realm would know the Targaryens were powerful once more and none would think to question them. The north would bend as would Dorne.

Eventually the evening came and Aegon dismissed the servants, and walked down to the chamber where the eggs were, they were placed in the middle of the chamber with logs surrounding them, Aegon saw the lighters next to them ready for the spark that would ignite them. The door opened and Aerys, Rhaella, Aemon, Daenys and Jaehaerys entered the room followed by Jenny and the wood’s witch. Aegon spoke then. “You all know why we are here, tonight is when the dragons shall be born once more. Tonight is when glory shall be ours once more.”

The woods witch stepped forward then, shrivelled and hunched as she was she still had a commanding presence. “Now we must say a prayer before the ritual can begin, not to the seven no, to the old gods, the ones who will bring these beasts back to life.”

The prayer began, singing the songs of old, songs that seemed ancient and primal back when dragons roamed the land and the children and magic reigned supreme they sang the song of the earth and then they sang another song, a different song, an even older song, the song that had been heard during the days of blood and strife, the time when darkness had ruled the world. Aegon wondered at that but did not comment, once the singing was done he spoke once more. “Now in the days of old, to bring the eggs to life, one had to start the fire that could bring life to the world. Jaehaerys light the fire.” His son nodded and threw the spark into the centre causing the wood to light up and the eggs to glow, red, then black, then green and then yellow. “Add more fuel to the fire.” Aegon said, and more was added.

“The blood of the prince must be added to the flames before the others can add their flames.” The witch said.

Aerys pulled out a knife and cut his and Rhaella’s thumbs and then tipped the blood from the knife into the centre, the flames crackled and sparked. “Now we each add our own blood.” Aegon commanded and it was done, blood was added, the blood of the dragon, to wake the dragons from stone. The flames crackled and shimmered and grew bigger, the heat was almost scalding even to Aegon, he looked toward the witch and asked. “Now what do we do?”

The witch was silent for a long moment and then she eventually said. “A sacrifice must be made, one of the king’s blood must be given to ensure that the dragons awake properly.”

Aegon looked at her and said. “Have you gone mad woman? That was not the plan and never has been.”

“It must be done Your Grace, otherwise we shall all die as the heat grows.” The witch replied.

Aegon sighed and then said. “King’s blood aye, very well, the blood shall be given. Jaehaerys give me the knife.” His son looked at him and then handed him the knife, Aegon moved onto the witch then and said softly. “If one of us must die then so much you witch, blood for blood.” And with that he slit her throat and added her blood and body to the flames that sizzled and then erupted, knocking Aegon down to the ground.

“Father, the flames are growing bigger but nothing else is happening.” Jaehaerys said.

“The flames Your Grace, look at the flames Your Grace.” Dunk shouted.

Struggling Aegon got onto his arms and saw the flames, they were bright green, no ordinary flames wildfire, how had it gotten here he knew not. “Get everyone out now! We must leave now.” Aegon shouted as the flames began to roar.

As Dunk was leading Aerys and Rhaella to safety the flames erupted and cracked glass and the room was growing dark and hot, Aegon struggled towards his grandchildren Aemon and Daenys, they needed to get to safety, but Jenny was standing in the way, holding a knife up in protection. “I won’t let you take my children from me Your Grace. Duncan is dead but his children can live on.”

“They won’t live unless you let me take them Jenny.” Aegon shouted.

“Oh I will take them to safety its you who won’t be making it out alive.” She replied and with that Aegon felt cold steel press into his chest as Jenny put the knife into him, the blood began running down him as Jenny shouted for her children to run away, she kept stabbing him again and again until he fell to the ground, curling with blood. The flames erupted but Aegon felt nothing but cold, the heat gone from his body, the flames engulfed him and his gooddaughter.

The Tragedy of Dragonsville caused the Targaryen summer manor to burn to the ground, after the flames died down and help was found, the bodies of King Aegon, Prince Aemon, Princess Daenys and Princess Jenny were found blackened and charred, wildfire caches were found lurking the ruins of the manor house. Princess Rhaella gave birth two days after the tragedy in castle Darry. A king was gone and an era had ended.


	55. Tell Mama

**King Jaehaerys II Targaryen**

Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night sweating and panting, images of the manor burning brightly in his mind, fixed to his eyelids unable to leave his mind, so engraved were they in his conscious. The Tragedy of Dragonsville had erupted from a simple ritual, trying to bring the dragons back, and it had come and claimed the lives of Jaehaerys father, goodsister, nephew and niece as well as the man who had been as good as an uncle to him in Ser Duncan the Tall. The flames could apparently be seen from as far as Harrenhal according to what Jaehaerys had heard after returning from Darry. His arm had been badly burnt during their escape from the burning manor. His right hand was so badly burned that Pycelle had told him he had two options either he could have the hand cut off or he could continue to apply lotions to it for the rest of his life and numb the pain. Jaehaerys already knew what he was called behind his back, he would not give his enemies more reason to gossip about him by having his hand cut off, instead he would keep the hand and deal with the pain.

It would serve as a reminder for the follies of trying to bring back the dragons, creatures that their family had chased for so many years and that as ever remained elusive. The dragons had brought nothing but sorrow to his family since they had died during the time of King Aegon the Dragonbane. Bringing them back was nothing but madness and would serve no purpose other than to make war a much higher possibility. Jaehaerys can still remember seeing the flames rising  high in the air as he and his children fled Dragonsville, he can still hear the screams of those who died within the manor house as it erupted, they had arrived in Castle Darry bedraggled and injured, Rhaella had had contractions for an hour before they reached Darry, and it took all of Jaehaerys patience to get them into the castle whilst Lord Darry was out trying to deal with peasants.

Rhaella had given birth to a boy who she and Aerys had named Rhaegar, a boy who was so small and peaceful that Jaehaerys wondered what the woods witch had been prattling on about when she said that his grandson would be the saviour of the world, a heavy burden to place on such a small child. Jaehaerys was determined that his family would never again fall victim to the prophecies and the ramblings of mad men that had driven their ancestors to near ruin. He had ordered the books relating to the damnable prophecy that his father had been so engrossed in burnt and destroyed, other books he had mo0ved to his own personal library and instructed the gold cloaks and the Kingsguard that they were not to allow anyone but him into the library. He would not have anyone else suffer for the madness that had once more shown itself within their family.

He had also ordered that Dragonsville remain a ruin, a testament to the folly that would haunt House Targaryen from time to time and to remind them that they were nothing but mortals, not the gods that some still thought of them as. Jaehaerys also needed to make changes to his council, Ser Duncan had died in the flames and as such had been replaced by Ser Gerold as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Ser Barristan Selmy one of the heroes of the War of the Ninepenny Kings had been named to the Kingsguard to fill the vacancy that Dunk had left behind. Jaehaerys had also named his uncle Lord Maegon Velaryon as hand of the king, and though he deeply hated having to admit it, due to his ill health, his uncle had more than proved his worth as hand, taking care of the more mundane matters of court and running the realm that would only serve to worsen Jaehaerys health.

Jaehaerys would often spend a large amount of time thinking back on the Tragedy and the things that perhaps they could have done differently and perhaps the things that they should have noticed. He knew that his father had not asked for Wildfire that was not part of the ritual that would supposedly bring the dragons back, that it was present at the ritual and under the exact spot where the fire was lit had made Jaehaerys very suspicious. The tragedy, though it was of course a mishap and an accident had been made to go wrong from the very beginning, he was convinced of that now. He had put Ser Dontos Waters to good use to find out more about who and where the people who had been working in the manor house, a place that the royal family had not frequented since the days of King Viserys II had come from.

His findings had turned up inconclusive though Waters had said that various lords had definitely conspired with one another to see an end to his father and his nephew and niece, whether they thought by putting him on the throne they would have more chances at getting what they wanted or whether their intent was to eradicate what was left of the Targaryen dynasty and cause a succession crisis, Jaehaerys knew not all he knew was that there were dangerous people out there and never again could his family take their hold on Westeros so lightly. With this in mind he had made concerted efforts to ensure that the realm healed following the tragedy, he sent out ravens to the lords who had been slighted or would have cause to feel anger with his family, and he spent his time bringing them back into the fold and making them fast friends, he spent time with the lords who had remained steadfast to his family through all the troubles to show them that their loyalty would be rewarded and that they were not forgotten.

There was only one most definite way to ensure that the peace that had been established following the death of Maelys Blackfyre would last. And that was to create a peace treaty that could last, and that would appeal to both sides. Daeron Stark was an old man and rumour had it that he was dying, his heir Prince Daemon though known as the angry wolf was not known for his interest in the south, and Jaehaerys was convinced that he could get the two to agree to a lasting piece, especially considering that Maelys had only left a bastard son and that both kingdoms desperately were in need of a lasting peace. He just needed to convince his council and get them to sign off on the treaty he had created with his uncle.

With this in mind he had summoned his council to discuss the treaty and anything else that might need to be discussed. They were all gathered in the small council chamber, hand of the king Lord Maegon Velaryon, master of coin Ser Monford Tyrell, master of ships Lord Edric Baratheon, master of laws Lord Horras Bolton, master of whispers Ser Dontos Waters, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Gerold Hightower and Grand Maester Pycelle. Jaehaerys cleared his throat and began speaking. “My lords I thank you for coming today. As you know, there is one major issue that we have left to discuss before peace can be achieved in Westeros for the good of all. Though there are those who would want the wars between us and the kingdom of the north and the kingdom of Dorne to continue, to do so would be to raise the body count beyond measure and would bring us no benefit. Peace must be achieved and I believe I have found terms that both sides can agree to. Maester Pycelle.”

The young maester nodded and unfurled a piece of parchment from his robes. He looked at it and then spoke. “In order to bring peace to the seven kingdoms once more, his grace King Jaehaerys Targaryen second of his name King of the Andals and the Rhoynar King of the South, does propose the following terms for the peace treaty for acceptance by King Daeron Stark, King of the North and the Iron Islands. As the proclamation states, King Jaehaerys is willing to accept House Starks rule over the north and the iron islands as the two kingdoms sovereign and overlord and that the lords in those kingdoms will pay homage to Winterfell as their king, in exchange for this his grace requests that House Stark recognise House Targaryen as rightful rulers of everything south of the neck and the Iron Islands, these kingdoms including The Riverlands, the Reach, The Westerlands, The Vale, the Stormlands and that this kingdom be acknowledged as the kingdom of the south. Furthermore, in order to further consolidate the peace, King Jaehaerys proposes that formal trade agreements be set up between the two kingdoms and that these trade agreements include protection for both kingdoms merchants meaning that no attacks should be waged on them unless it is a time of war, and that the Ironborn must not raid the mainland Westerosi lands belonging to the kingdom of the south. King Jaehaerys also requests that House Stark and House Targaryen of Volantis prevent themselves from trying to claim the Iron Throne with accordance of the earlier requests in this treaty. In return for this, House Targaryen of King’s Landing the rulers of the south will agree to relinquish all control of the north, the iron islands and Dorne.”

Pycelle finished speaking and Jaehaerys looked at the lords of his council waiting for one of them to speak. As expected his uncle Lord Maegon spoke first. “A sound treaty Your Grace. And one that will further reinforce the image that it is you who is making the first step to getting the peace in place. Something that the various lords of Westeros shall be very grateful for.”

Lord Horras Bolton a sly snake if ever there was one spoke his agreement as well. “Truly well written and phrased Your Grace. Once the treaty becomes common knowledge your lords will know that it was you and not Stark who broached the official peace. That will only strengthen support for House Targaryen.”

Jaehaerys goodbrother though voiced his disapproval. “I still think you are being too lenient towards Stark Your Grace. It was he and not you or the Targaryens who started the previous wars other than the fifth Blackfyre war and that too ended in defeat for the north. Why should the throne have to give so much up to that mad man when it was he who put himself in this position in the first place? If nothing else he should be begging for peace.”

Ser Dontos spoke then and said. “Whilst what you are saying might be true Lord Edric, the north remembers what started the fifth Blackfyre war and Daeron Stark old and crippled as he is, is too proud to come begging. Would you rather have peace for your children and grandchildren to grow up in or risk facing another war led by Rhaegon Blackfyre?”

His goodbrother grumbled. “The bastard has not been legitimised by the iron throne and remains somewhere in Essos, no doubt being taught lies. He should be killed Your Grace. And has the throne given up on retaining Dorne?”

Jaehaerys sighed then and said. “Edric I appreciate your concerns but we must chose our battles carefully here. We have a chance to have lasting peace I will not risk that for something that not even Aegon the conqueror could achieve with dragons. The time will come when Dorne realises they need to be part of Westeros again and when that day does we shall welcome them with open arms. This treaty must stand, and it will only stand if it has your approval, as members of my small council. Now does it?”

There is silence and then the members of his council all voice their consent to the treaty and six days later Jaehaerys, Lord Maegon, Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan ride north with twenty other members of the court to seal the peace that will hopefully prevent further bloodshed, whilst Lord Edric and Prince Lewyn ride south to Dorne to bring the peace treaty terms there.

* * *

 

**King Daeron Stark**

The year had been welcomed in with the birth of his seventh great grandchild, Daemon and Visenya’s daughter Princess Daenaera Stark had been born on the first day of the first month of the 260th year after Aegon’s Landing. Daeron had seen his mother in Daenaera’s little face, she was so sweet and peaceful with both her parents’ valyrian colouring, the silver hair and purple eyes, a happy child she would be and peace she would know hopefully. Daeron prayed that she would know peace now, what with both Aegon the brat and Ser Duncan the false knight both dead, the last antagonists towards the north were gone, and his son had been avenged. Daeron still harboured guilt that had it not been for his promise and for his obsession, Aegor would still be alive, so many people would still be alive had he been a sensible man, but then again he had always been too led by the heart and by his sense of duty and honour.

It had cost him in more ways than one, his relationship with most of his children apart from Elaena was nonexistent at best, cold at worst. He supposed that was what happened when your father spent most of his time obsessing over something that they could not understand or comprehend when it seemed doomed to fail from the off, he realised that now, though the wars had weakened House Targaryen’s strength and made it so that they could not really threaten the north, they had also cost the lives of millions and millions of people., and it had all been because of him and his obsession, the guilt did gnaw at him daily, and sometimes he worried that he would never see the end of the grief and the torment. Only his rock of a wife Dacey, Elaena with her unending reserves of strength and his younger grandchildren and great grandchildren kept him from despairing so thoroughly.

Some part of him was also relieved that Aegon and Duncan the Tall were dead as it meant that his grandson Daemon had gotten his vengeance for the deaths of his father and for his first wife and daughter. Daeron had seen from the outside just what an obsession could do to a person, and he had feared that his grandson would succumb to the same madness that he himself had, and he had not wanted that for his grandson. For his grandson had it in him to be a great man, he was already on his way to achieving greatness, he was dedicated to his family and to their people. And was steadfast in what he believed in and worked tirelessly to see the north and the iron islands brought to greatness. Yes Daemon would be a great king, and the kingdoms would be in good hands once he himself was dead. He was more than grateful that Aegon d Duncan were dead, at least this way Daemon would also get time to spend knowing his new wife and daughter away from the shadow of of his dead spouse and daughter.

Daeron knew his time was running out, he was old and he had no more reason to truly be on this planet. Maelys, the last of his brother Daemon’s descendants was dead, true the boy’s bastard son Rhaegon was here, and was a lovely and sweet child, but Daeron no longer wanted to fight and cause bloodshed. He had done enough of that already in his life top last him many lifetimes, now he just wanted to spend time with his family and make up for the time he had lost when his madness had taken him. His gooddaughter Visenya was a sweet lady, fierce and strong, she would make a great queen perhaps even better than Samaira would have done, and she would be exactly what Daemon would need in the times that were to come, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Elaena of course would be there to help guide Daemon through what troubles would come and through whatever plans his grandson made for the north, as would Edwyle and Dacey. His wife, his rock, how she had remained with him through this all he knew not , all he knew was that he would never be able to truly repay her for everything she had done for him. All in all he was convinced that his family was being left in safe hands and he was grateful that at least he had not been a complete failure as a parent or grandparent and that he had been able to pass on some of what he had learnt to his descendants.

There was also the fact that peace had finally been achieved between the kingdoms as well that was something Daeron was grateful he had been able to achieve before he died. Jaehaerys Targaryen, Maekar’s grandson had come north with two members of his Kingsguard and his uncle Maegon Velaryon in order to have a formal peace treaty signed that would bring a lasting peace to Westeros. Daeron had been more than happy to rouse himself from his bed and from his slumber to personally deal with the treaty, he had signed the treaty having found the terms agreeable and at the end of it all, felt as if a huge weight had been lifted of his shoulders. Now there would be no need to worry unnecessarily about potential threats from the south or from the sea. Jaehaerys seemed like a amiable fellow and no nearly as treacherous as his father had proven to be, perhaps Daemon and Jaehaerys would be able to develop the peace further and do what Daeron and the kings who had come before Jaehaerys had not been able to do.

Daeron had also managed to have a brief conversation with Ser Barristan Selmy, the new knight of Jaehaerys Kingsguard and the hero of the last war that had seen Daemon’s descendant Maelys die. The man had killed Maelys himself and whilst at first Daeron had wanted to scream and shout at the man, when actually present to speak with him he found he could not do it and so instead had simply sat down with the white knight and asked him about his great nephew. Asking the knight if before his death Maelys had fought bravely and honourably in a fashion honouring his grandsire Daemon, and the white knight had replied that he had, and that had it not been for luck, Maelys would have won their duel and that there had never been a finer fighter that the knight had ever seen. Daeron was happy with that, atleast his brother’s grandson had gone with a fight and not like a coward.

Jaehaerys Targaryen and his company had left some two moons ago, Daeron had been bedridden since then, his strength and his will to live slowly leaving him now that the peace had been signed, there were a few things that he had needed to oversee before he could finally leave this world and now that they had been seen to he was ready to go. That was why he had summoned his wife Dacey, his grandson Daemon, his favourite grandson Daeron Reed, his sons Jorah and Jonnel and his daughters Elaena and Lyanna as well as Visenya and Rhaegon and Edwyle. He spoke slowly his words soft. “My family, all of you are my family, and I do not have much time left, but you must know how much I love you all and care for you. Edwyle, I thank you for your unwavering loyalty and service, a finer High Steward I could not have found. Jorah and Jonnel, fine warriors and men, you have done myself and your mother proud. Lyanna, you remind me so much of my sisters that I know you will always do well in life.” He took a short breath and Dacey’s grip on his hand tightened. “Elaena, my sweetling I have always loved you the most. I am so proud of what you have become and I know that you will use your gifts to benefit the north for generations to come. As will you Daeron, do your mother proud and I know you will do the north proud as well.” He took a breath and then looked at his wife and said his voice beginning to waver. “Dacey my love. I know not what to say that would thank you for helping me through the dark times and the good times. All I can say is that I love you, and I hope you can forgive me for my past wrongs.”

His wife nods, a tear in her eyes and Daeron continues this time looking at Visenya. “Visenya, I know that we have had very little time to know each other, but I know you will make a fine queen and I know you will be a great mother. Raise Rhaegon in a manner that would make your grandfather proud.” His gooddaughter nods and then he asks for his grandson Daemon to come closer which thankfully he does, he then whispers. “Daemon my boy, I know I did wrong by you many times. But I know you will make a great king, learn from my mistakes and see to it that the north only prospers and be good to your wife when things get tough she will be the only one you can count on.”

With his farewells said Daeron Stark closes his eyes and then stops breathing, Daeron Stark, King of the north and the iron islands, the Winter Dragon, son of Willam Stark and Daena Targaryen, dies at the age of eighty eight on the seventh day of the ninth month on the 260th year after Aegon’s Landing. A legend has gone from the world.


	56. The Island, Farewell

**Septa Barbra**

The day news of Daeron Stark, the Winter Dragon’s death became widespread; the reactions in both the north and the south could not have been more different. Whilst in the north those lords who had met the Winter Dragon mourned the passing of a legend and a man who had brought them independence and freedom from southern influence and control as well as bringing new developments and reforms to a kingdom that would have otherwise fallen into the wayside, the south on the other hand whilst continuing to paint romantic tales of Daemon Blackfyre and his doomed love for Princess Daenaerys, Targaryen propaganda and the long memories of the southern lords painted Daeron Stark as nothing more than a mad warmonger, a man so hell bent on causing bloodshed and chaos that he would rest at nothing until his goals were accomplished.

The day, the rider came from the north an emissary from the throne, riding through the gates of King’s Landing screaming for all to hear about the death of Daeron Stark, shouting. "The Winter Dragon is dead! The monster is dead! The age of aggression is at an end!" Even though the peace treaty had been signed and sealed both in the north and the south, the celebrations in King’s Landing and across the southern kingdom would last well into the next month as people celebrated the end of a tyrant and the beginning of what they hoped would become a long and fruitful peace. King Jaehaerys Targaryen was hailed as a diplomat similar to the first Jaehaerys and would forever be remembered for his diplomatic skills and though he was not a martial man this feat far outweighed any failings of his on the marital front.

It is interesting to note that though Daeron Stark had devoted himself to a cause, the cause of the Black Dragon along the way it seems he lost what his brother truly stood for, and as such bathed in rivers of blood so vast that he himself became disgusted with who and what he had become. Though this realisation came after his son and heir Aegor Stark was dead and the north had bled for his obsession and the risk of rebellion form his lords meant that Grand Maester Aemon Targaryen had to use all of his skills of persuasion and politics to bring the north back to the fold and away from the brink of anarchy.  Even so, records show that even towards the end Daeron Stark in his delirium cried out for his brother’s forgiveness for failing him and his heirs and being unable to succeed in achieving his promise and in the contradiction that became the winter dragon he would cry out to his grandfather King Aegon the Dragonbane for forgiveness in so utterly destroying the peace he had worked so hard for following the dance of dragons.

Daeron Stark died in the closing months of 260 A.L., and his grandson Daemon Stark was crowned king on the first day of the tenth month of the same year, he and his wife Visenya Blackfyre now Stark who was pregnant at the time of the winter dragon’s death were coronated in the same manner that King Daeron was, in front of the heart tree of Winterfell’s godswood with the lords of the north and the iron islands in attendance, their family in attendance as well. The crown of the King of Winter was placed on Daemon Stark’s head and a new era had truly begun.  Changes were made to the court of King Daemon Stark, the drifters and floaters who had so attached themselves to his grandfather’s court who Daemon had not had the power to remove during his grandfather’s reign were forcibly dismissed, and younger more energetic lords and nobles were put in place and welcomed to court. High Steward Lord Edwyle Stark stepped down as High Steward, though some rumours hold that Daemon Stark the new king so fierce of reputation asked the man to step down, nevertheless Edwyle Stark stepped down and joined the order of the forest an order dedicated to overseeing the preservation of first men culture in the north, his son Rickard Stark became Lord of Moat Cailin and High Steward.

Queen Visenya pregnant during the later months of King Dareon’s reign gave birth on the fifth day of the seventh month of the 261st year After Aegon’s Landing to another girl, who the King named Delena in honour of his mother. Two daughters, and whispers were beginning to grow though neither king or queen seemed to care about the rumours, and after the birth of Delena, Daemon Stark a man focussed on his duty seemed to leave his wife’s bed for anything but sleep as the Queen was not pregnant again for some time, and relations between the royal couple seemed cordial if somewhat frosty during this period.

In the southern kingdom, King Jaehaerys Targaryen the second of his name did what he could to repair the realm he had inherited from his father. A kingdom divided by war and strife and famine, the king did what any good king would do. He opened his realm to trade and ensured that the lords and smallfolk alike benefitted from this, so much so that through the summer and the brief winter that followed the southern kingdom saw its gold reserves increase and prosperity return, gone were the fears and resentments of King Aegon’s reign. King Jaehaerys ruled wisely for another two years following the peace treaty that he would be most remembered for, he died in his sleep from a chill at the age of forty two, never the most healthy of people still his passing was mourned though the people of the southern kingdom hoped for continued prosperity under his son and heir King Aerys.

In Dorne, the kingdom of the Yronwoods prospered, trade with the free cities, Volantis in particular flourished and their gold increased and was used to bring more prosperity to the land that so many had often underestimated, cities and towns were rebuilt and some were even built anew. The Planky Town became a major port as did Sunspear, and it was at Sunspear that the royal navy of Dorne was docked and where the vast majority of trade came into Dorne, though there were ports at Yronwood as well. King Berros Yronwood outlived the Winter Dragon and Jaehaerys Targaryen and continued to reign as King of Dorne through the ascension of two new kings, and continued to assert his hold on the throne of the sun, by defeating a invasion led by the pirate kin Saaro Saan convincingly.

Finally in Volantis, King Aerion Targaryen continued to rule justly and wisely, and though he was sad at the deaths of his brother and nephews he would later claim that it was for the best that that generation of their family was left two the only two who had been reasonable enough to call a spade a spade, himself and his brother Aemon. The kingdom of Volantis knew times of plenty, good trade with the other free cities and with Westeros and the far off lands across the Jade Sea brought riches and many other things including several rare dragon eggs said to have been laid by one of the oldest dragons to have ever lived during the Valyrian Freehold.

As for the Golden Company that band of sellswords was captained by Prince Jonnel Stark and continued to take what contracts they could, and fought in the Disputed Lands for Tyrosh and though their contracts grew fewer during peace, they still found good work as the most loyal of sellsword companies.

All in all following the death of King Daeron Stark, peace was achieved in the lands of the known world, though his memory would hang heavy across all those who had ever known or interacted with him for many years to come.


End file.
